Starlight, Star Bright
by Backroads
Summary: A Cinderella story. Fawn is a princess, murdered before her wedding. Christine is a servant desperate for freedom. Wyatt is a prince preparing for his coronation while still clinging to an unsolved mystery. What is the secret that binds them together?
1. Fawn

Some say that twenty-one is far too much of an age for a princess to marry; I've heard it said among the common folk that twenty-four or even twenty-five were perfectly suitable ages to demonstrate experience that a girl could work with the best of them. That was all well and good for the non-nobility to take what luxury they could afford in choosing a spouse but I had been raised with the notion that when it came to princesses they should be married off and bearing heirs to the throne as soon as possible in opposition to the possibility that kingdoms would be seized and an infant king would be necessary to stand against legions of darkness. So I really do not know why it took so long for my parents to find me a good husband. Excuse me, I take that back. I knew perfectly well why I could not find a husband.

I think my parents, the King and Queen of Tamenrook, began looking when I was twelve or thirteen (mind, it was not unheard of for a princess to be engaged at thirteen. Mama was and she was well-suited to Father). Princes and noblemen's sons were brought to visit. Some were nicer and charming than others, but the fault was mostly mine. I was a shy and awkward child—girl, young woman. I hid my face when anyone came. My trick was to find an unnoticed corner where I could curl up with a book and avoid visitors altogether. I don't think Father cared one way or the other, but Mama hated when I did that.

"Go show your face!" she would tell me. "Charm them. Dance. And for goodness' sake open your mouth and speak! You're not a mouse."

I had felt like one, back then, and it was a difficult feeling to explain away. As I had said, I had been shy and awkward. My hair had spent its short life in a messy attempt to decide between blond, brown, or copper and for lack of better terms or desire to flatter myself I was not a slender child. I wasn't immensely fat, but I liked eating and the cook happened to be fond of me and always had a specially prepared treat ready for me. To top it off, I went through a rather long phase where I decided that I was above all vain frivolities of fashion. The only problem with this was that I did not have the confidence to be comfortable avoiding the aforementioned frivolities of fashion. This left me as Mama said, the round little mouse in the corner eating a book.

And as many nice and charming princes that came to visit me (or rather, the kingdom of Tamenrook), none were all that interested in the chubby, ugly girl that couldn't open her mouth without saying something stupid.

Don't worry, this is not a tale of how an ugly girl because a beautiful, graceful princess. It's rather a boring story and I am quite positive I'm not the only girl who has gone through an awkward adolescence. Suffice it to say that I grew up. I gave up the tomboy idea and accepted the concept that there is nothing wrong with taking care of one's personal appearance and taking pride in it. My body reshaped itself into curves and my hair decided that it liked being light brown. One day I had the epiphany that it was better to live life rather than read about it in books and I began to make friends and talk. By the time I was eighteen I was not unpleasant to look upon, if I do say so myself.  
But that awkward stage had done something. I was a proper, reasonably desirable princess, but eighteen was on the old side of the age scale. Ideally I should have been married at sixteen. My parents weren't upset—they were good parents and adored me—but it did throw some difficulty into the plan of making baby heirs. Mama and Father had married for love (at age fifteen) and did not care much for the idea of arranging a marriage with some strange prince against my will. The sad result was me a year later at age nineteen, still sadly single.

Until Wyatt.

Wyatt was never, strictly speaking, an arrangement. For reasons similar to mine he failed to marry properly early. I think the idea was that his father, the King of Sunelle up in the north, and my father were to discuss possible pacts between the kingdoms and Wyatt was highly encouraged to attend. Highly, severely encouraged. And Father and Mama thought it would be good to observe matters of state. I hate to use the term "love at first sight", but that is more or less what happened among discussions of trade tariffs.

Looking back on it I realize just how impossible and yet certain our love was. I was no longer the little mouse reading books in a dark corner, but nature had made me quieter and reserved than others. Wyatt was no chatterbox himself and heaven only knows how we managed to talk to each other as we did. But we were perfect for each other. That much was evident. We were kindred spirits. During that first meeting of Sunelle and Tamenrook we spent so much time together it was a wonder we weren't engaged by the time King Richard's bags were packed.

Wyatt and I liked to take things slow. I had never been in love before, and his one-time love had lasted only a few short months. Besides, apparently when once passed the desirable age of marriage there was no point in hurrying things, at least according to my parents. Therefore, through every fault of my own I found myself twenty-one, still technically single, and very much in love. Who cared if I were too old?

* * *

Two days before the engagement ball found me at the gate of the palace grounds, perched up on the stone wall in a most undignified fashion while the guards stood rigid at the bottom, probably hoping I would not fall. It was amazing I could think about the guards when the procession I knew belonged to the kingdom of Sunelle was visible along the main road of the city. I wore deep yellow—Wyatt said that yellow looked terrible on me and I wanted to infuriate him as much as possible before the engagement ball as I could. Though the dress was getting filthy from sitting on the wall, so perhaps that would cancel out some of his anger.

One guard—Simon, I believe his name was—was watching the procession just as intently as me. "Do you wish me to prepare you a horse, Princess Fawn?"

Me, galloping off to meet my lover? It certainly did not sound like me. I shook my head and brushed hair from my eyes. "No, thank-you, Simon. I'm perfectly fine waiting right here."

Later I realized that his name was Alan and I had no idea why I called him Simon. Bless guards that don't stand up for themselves before their princess.

Besides the yellow, I hoped I looked attractive. I had known Wyatt for two years, but I still felt obliged to make myself lovely for him. No, oblige is not the right word. I guess I just wanted him to see me at my best even when he could love the worst of me. Tragically I had failed to bind my hair back, instead selecting on a wearing it down in curls. The day was overcast and the wind had picked up something rather strong. I pushed more hair from my eyes and focused on the procession. I could imagine I could see Wyatt's very expression now, his strong, purposeful smile surrounded by stubble the same color as his black hair. Wyatt had never been very faithful at shaving. It was possible it was only my imagination indeed, but I had no evidence either way so I would say I saw whatever I saw. Besides, he was coming closer all the time.

Maybe I should have jumped off the wall and ran down the street to fall, fatigued, into his arms, but I didn't.

"Quite the party they have with them this time," one of the guards commented nonchalantly.

"The engagement ball," Simon-really-called-Alan said. "It's a celebration for Sunelle, as well."

It had better be. I was going to be Queen of Sunelle. "I just don't understand why they have to bring half the court with them." If I were to be Queen, I should not say things like that. I just had never cared for big, fancy parties. "The King and Queen are inside, finishing hospitalities." The only reason I was not in there with them doing my princess duties was because I was awaiting my prince. That was my ultimate duty. If I were to be Wyatt's wife I had better start honoring him right away.

My heart pounded. He was getting closer and closer. I could see his eyes now, dark, creamy brown, watching me. We were nearly half a mile apart, but we could still watch one another.

By the end of the year we would be married.

Then, just before the main road turned up hill around the rose bushes, Wyatt kicked his horse into a gallop. I squealed in most unprincess-like fashion and slid as dangerously as I dared from the wall. Wyatt's stupid horse was kicking up dust around me, but I decided to let the guards worry about that. I forcefully shoved my unruly hair behind my ear and forced my way through nothing to Wyatt, who had already dismounted.

"Hello, Fawn," he said softly.

"Hello, Wyatt," I replied even softer. And that was it for conversation. In front of the guards he threw his arms around me and pressed his surprisingly warm lips to mine. He was an excellent kisser.

One of the guards mumbled something about our behavior. Low key, of course, as he was only a guard. If I wasn't so happy I would have blushed and removed myself from Wyatt. But as it was we just continued to kiss. It had been months since I had last seen him. Five solid months of only letters. Wyatt was an excellent writer, better than I could ever hope to be, but those written words paled in comparison of having him with me.

"You look beautiful," he said as he finally pulled away, though our foreheads continued to touch. "Except for the yellow. It washes out your skin."

I giggled. "You don't like the yellow? I wore it especially for you."

"It doesn't suit you at all, but you still look beautiful. You would look beautiful in anything."

"Liar. You are so ridiculously flowery." I kissed him again, one sweet little kiss on his lips.

He laughed as well. It was a small laugh, for my Wyatt never laughed loudly, but that just made them all the more precious. "Aren't I supposed to act this way? We are to be married. We have an engagement ball."

Engagement. Ah, yes. The reason he was here besides to be with me. "I hope you brought a ring."

He nodded, his nose gently rubbing my cheek as he did so. "I brought you a ring. I had the advice and help of the best jewelers in Sunelle."

I felt wonderfully spoiled. Sunelle was a mountain kingdom, near mines. Jewels, I understood, were as common as dust and I could only imagine how gorgeous the finest would be. "May I see it?"

He rolled his eyes and let his arm drop around my shoulder. I snuggled up to him, not caring what the guards or anyone else thought. I was twenty-one and he was twenty-two, after all. "Fawn, I'm sweaty and disgusting and you are wearing yellow. Plus, half the court of Sunelle is behind me."

So I had been right about that. I studied the approaching crowd of coaches and horses as the guards positioned themselves to lead us into the palace. "Why on earth did you bring them all?"

Wyatt shrugged as if the matter did not concern him. "Not my choice. My father's. Apparently they all must be present to attend the ball and see to it that our engagement goes as planned."

"You already asked me to marry you." My hair had come loose again. Hair was so infuriating! Why was it so necessary for women to wear it long? I finally decided to let it do what it would, and the curls tumbled over my shoulders. Nothing romantic; I had worn a high-cut, modest gown to my Mama's approval. Well, I had other dresses to show Wyatt later. In a more private setting. "That was five months ago."

"You know how it is, my love."

He sounded so fake. I laughed. "You really don't need to use all those pet names, Wyatt."

He pretended to pout. He rarely joked, so this was a clear sign he was in a good mood. "I'm trying to be romantic for you. Like husbands. All husbands use silly pet names for their wives."

The guards were groaning again.

"Beside, I need to practice. Minister Evan of my court wants to hear it."

"Evan?" I echoed. We were in the front garden now, and willows were dripping everywhere. Tamenrook was famous for its willows, but they were sure an irritating tree at times. "Have I met him?"

Wyatt moved a willow branch from my path. The guards and gardeners both tried to whack away at the branches every chance they could, but it never worked out well enough. It was my theory that they were alive and ready to attack at any moment. "You might have. Old man. Balding grey hair. Thinks he runs my life. And he'll run yours the moment we are married. He will say it is in your best interest but he really just wants to be in the way. It makes him happy."

"Sounds like a dear." I slowed us down. "I don't want to go into the palace just yet."

"What do you mean? Would you prefer a horseback ride? One of your guards already led my mare away."

I nodded at the willows.

"Mm. Those branches do make good covering."

I nodded again. My guards were ignoring us. Simon-later-known-as-Alan was hopefully on my side.

Wyatt urged off the path. "And Father and the populace of Sunelle will have to gawk at things for quite some time." His hand slipped into mine and we sped off for the furthest willow, snickering like children.

I hit the ground first, kissing Wyatt all the time and much more fiercely than at the gate. The grass was long here and surely my unflattering yellow dress would be stained. So much the better. It would give the servants something to gossip about. I will have it be known I was not a troublesome girl. I just wanted to kiss my fiancé.

In a minute the head maid was screaming at us anyway. Ariel was her name. One of the few people in the household that didn't care that I was a princess. She would boss be around until her dying day, if she could help it. I don't know how she knew we were out there, but the next moment she was standing about ten willows away, her thin face red from hollering.

"Such behavior, Fawn! Like a kitchen girl! And with company coming!"

I giggled as Wyatt helped me to my feet. "It's his company!"

"Even worse," Ariel snapped. "Prince Wyatt, your father would be ashamed. Now get inside and where you should be before someone meaner than I catches you."

"I don't want to meet anyone meaner than her," Wyatt whispered.

* * *

We then had a luncheon, sweet and light and hardly suitable for people who had spent a week traveling over bumpy roads. But it was salads and breads—my favorite things. I don't think King Richard much enjoyed it. Apparently Northerners preferred meat. I supposed I could get used to that. I would have to. It brought to mind other things that I might have to get used to. I had never been to Sunelle, in all the years I had known Wyatt. He had told me of it, had praised it near to death. I knew it was mountainous. There were trees. It wasn't quite as misty and rainy as Tamenrook.

Minister Evan was there. He was just as Wyatt had described him and was a dear as I had expected. However at this meal he ignored Wyatt and turned every attention on me with a strange combination of shrewdness and delight.

"What are your hobbies?" he demanded.

Hobbies. I just wanted to eat my nut bread. "I like to work in the garden. And read. I delight in reading. And star gazing."

"Astronomy," he said with approval. "Do you have a favorite planet? The Lady Venus, perhaps? Prince Wyatt enjoys watching Saturn."

"I like Jupiter," I said honestly. "It's big and lovely."

"Excellent." It was like he was examining a horse, only in the nicest way imaginable. "And what do you read?"

Impossible to answer. "Everything."

He seemed more pleased with me all the time. "How do you feel about children?"

"Children?" Wyatt stammered.

King Richard, Father, and Mama laughed. Clearly some private joke out of which Wyatt had been left.

Evan didn't seem to find it funny. His grey eyes narrowed. "Princess Fawn, I'm going to need an answer. Sunelle will need an heir to the throne once Prince Wyatt is out of the way."

"You make it sound like a hostile take-over, Evan," Wyatt said between bites of salad.

"I'm just being realistic, young man. Princess, do you or do you not like children?"

I could feel myself blushing now. I had kissed Wyatt rather wildly in the willows, but part of me still thought it improper to discuss such things. "I'm sure I love them."

"Children are a delight," said a woman three spots down from Evan. I had been introduced to her before the meal. Her name was Lady Melissa. She was a very beautiful woman, a little on the short side, but pale and lovely with a rather curved nose. "We have two daughters of our own."

The man next to her nodded. Her husband, Lord Arnston. "Grace and Amelia."

I truly did like children. I was sure Lady Melissa and Lord Arnston's children were darling. "How old are they?"

"Grace is nine now," Lady Melissa replied. Her golden hair was in the tightest ringlets imaginable. It was all I could do not to stare. They looked like thick yellow sausages. "And Amelia is nearly seven."

Evan did not look impressed. "In the case of Prince Wyatt and Princess Fawn, I was rather hoping they would have sons."

The man was terrible. I smiled and drank my water, wondering why I liked him so much.

"The girls would have loved to come to the ball," Arnston said. "But I just don't dare bring them over this land. It's a hard journey."

"And I daresay they'll have plenty of balls enough when they come of age," his wife continued. "Hopefully. I understand you didn't have too many growing up, did you, Princess Fawn?"

I ignored her and wondered what Grace and Amelia would think of ball upon ball. They weren't as exciting as one would expect them to be, if there were too many. They lost their magic at that point. One ball every now and then was quite enough.

"Speaking of the ball," Mama said. "I understand that Wyatt has selected a ring for Fawn?"

"Shouldn't that be reserved for the ball?" Father asked.

King Richard did not seem to care either way.

Mama just scoffed. "It's a ring! A piece of very lovely jewelry."

She wasn't the only one that wanted to see the ring. "Mama, I am the one that will be wearing it."

"Which is all the more reason the rest of us should see it." Mama could be quite the demanding one when something got into her head. "Does it offend any tradition of Sunelle?"

"We really don't have a lot of traditions," King Richard replied. He was like in Wyatt in many ways. Calm. "It's up to Wyatt to decide what he wants."

I sure hoped he would let me see the ring.

"Do you have it with you, son?" King Richard continued.

We had actually been holding hands underneath the table. He gave me a final squeeze before slipping his hand into his pocket. "Well, I did propose marriage to Princess Fawn five months ago. Don't worry, King Jordan, I will display it again tomorrow night at the ball."

The ring was beautiful. I will admit that part of mind had hoped for something ridiculously gaudy, a miniature mountain of diamonds somehow stuck together on the same circle of gold. But that was a small part of my mind and the rest was much more sensible and tasteful and it much approved of what Wyatt gave me. There was a diamond, perfectly circular, facets flashing faintly blue up at me. Surrounding the diamond were bits of emerald. They were embedded in a band of gold that seemed to glow around my finger. My immediate thought was a river winding through green trees. I gasped, as well did every other female, Mama and Lady Melissa included.

"I think she likes it," Wyatt murmured.

I nodded. My eyes were misting up with tears. I felt profoundly loved and devilishly greedy at the same time.

"Sunelle has many beautiful jewels," Lady Melissa said reverently.

"Thank-you," I whispered.

Across the table Mama gave a tinkling little laugh. "Perhaps we should excuse the young people."

Thank-you, Mama. My eyes still on my gorgeous ring, Wyatt and I left the room.

"I thought of you when I commissioned the ring," he told me when we were out in the silence of the hall. It was like being outside—tapestries of the ocean covered the walls. "I don't know why, you really aren't so much a river person—"

"A river," I said. "That's exactly what I thought of when I saw the ring. And I don't know if I'm not a river person, it's just that we don't have a river around here."

"Sunelle has streams near it. Many, in fact. You'll love them."

"I'm sure I will. What do they look like?"

He paused a moment, thinking. He was adorable when he was thinking hard; someone he managed to look incredibly stupid. "Like rivers."

I punched him in the arm.

"Hey, but a river is a river. But they're beautiful. They come off the mountains and hit rocks. We like to swim in them."

That sounded painful. "Don't you hit the rocks?"

He paused again. "Sometimes."

I punched him again. "I will let you know that I have no desire to get torn to pieces by rocks in a river."

"You like flowers," he continued. "Many flowers grow near the river. You would like them. Wild flowers. Mountain violets, wild rose, sticky geranium, rabbit brush, hoary cress… they're beautiful. I mean, I don't like them, but you would."

I stared into his eyes. All this just to please me. "I love you, Wyatt. I cannot wait until we are married."

He took hold of my arms. "And a year ago weren't we happy just being together and not being engaged? We were idiots."

"Oh, yes." I closed my eyes and breathed in. He smelled wonderful. "But I can't even be with you today! There's so much work to do! Mama insists I help with set up for the ball and I have things to arrange…" It was much busy work, being a princess.

"Tonight, then," he said. "We will go stargazing, just like Evan wants us to. Hopefully it won't be cloudy."

"It's always cloudy in Tamenrook."

* * *

Fortunately that night, Tamenrook made an exception. We went to the western tower where there was a high balcony and a perfect view of the sky. Both Saturn and Jupiter were out.

"Jupiter is just a big awkward thing," Wyatt told me. "Saturn is the best."

"Jupiter was king of the gods."

"As was Saturn."

This was no time to argue mythology. I just smiled. "The Serpens Caput is very clear tonight."

Wyatt scoffed at that. "Dull constellation."

"I like it."

"I prefer Aquila."

It was a good time to argue astronomy. "Can you see the stars well in Sunelle, Wyatt?" I asked.

He nodded. "I used to sleep on the roof at night, at least four times a week."

"All year?" I asked, incredulous.

"In the summer," he corrected. "The nights are very clear. Not all these clouds and rain like you have here."

"We should sleep there when we go to Sunelle," I suggested.

"Would you dare climb on a roof?"

I shrugged. "No, but you could help me."

"Don't make a suggestion if you intend on me doing all the work." He kissed me quickly on the cheek. "Oh, Fawn, I can't wait until you come to Sunelle. You'll love it there."

"I know I will." I traced the Milky Way with my finger. "Just as long as I don't have to speak to Lady Melissa all day. I prefer Evan."

"I knew you would like Evan. As for Lady Melissa and Lord Arnston, ignore them. They're both noble blood extending back generations, but their money won't last much longer. They like to pretend they have more than what they do. I can't imagine what they'll leave their girls."

"Ah. So I should pity them because they're poor."

"Exactly." He said it so seriously that we both laughed a few moments later.

* * *

Irreverently enough, the joke continued into the next day. It shouldn't have, but it was the day of my engagement ball and the night before had been the eve. I had not slept a wink and was therefore in the silliest of moods. I could only guess that Wyatt felt the same. The first thing he said to me as we sat down to breakfast was a childish "We're engaged!"

"I know!" I returned, just as juvenile.

Lady Melissa passed at that time and looked most irritated with us.

"Poor," Wyatt mouthed.

I snorted into the oatmeal that had just been handed to me. It was good that I was not hungry.

Wyatt watched me as he ate a spoonful. "That is poor behavior, Princess Fawn."

Normally I'm not so silly. But I wanted my ball, as much as I detested them. My official engagement ball.

It was going to be hell getting through the day. Perhaps this was why princesses were encouraged to marry early and quickly. Perhaps it was wisdom indeed. It was just ridiculous waiting for all the pieces of protocol. Guests would spend the day arriving. They would need to be greeted, fed, all-around cared for. I did not feel comfortable speaking to most of them, but it was my duty as princess. Wyatt would also be taking on such duties, but the palace was so huge and there was so much to do that I didn't think our paths would cross much.

Yes, it was going to be hell that day.

I could have my moments with crowds. There were times when I could be the best princess in the world. Smile, laugh, and charm the crowd. After all, I had improved much since my adolescence. It was part of life to please people and make them feel comfortable. It was good and right and I did not mind it.

But it was around Wyatt that I felt most like myself.

They brought gifts, the guests did. Dozens of glisteningly wrapped presents that I could not wait to open. I thanked them all profusely. It was exciting, I had to admit. The ball room looked fantastic. My dress was finished just after lunch. It was a violet blue, the color that looked best on me. I could not wait to wear it. The palace was buzzing and it was impossible to not absorb the enthusiasm. It just became more overwhelming as the hours passed.

I'm not sure how it happened, but after Ariel had tossed a servant boy into the wall I found myself wandering to the less crowded parts of the palace. Less crowded was not even the proper term. Though the echoes of laughter, talking, and the servant boy's screams would still be heard, it was upfront silent. The hall had not been used in some time. No tapestries or mirrors hung just a few suits of armor and a bookshelf whose collection had not yet made it to the library.

I stopped there. I still loved books and I always would. I just had to remember the epiphany I had once had. It wasn't like I had ever wanted to disappear into the books. I loved this world.

Footsteps rang out near me. I stepped away from the shelf. "Hello?" So this hall wasn't as empty as I had thought. How disappointing. Oh, well. I smoothed out my curls and looked around. Not a solitary soul. "Hello?"

The footsteps came closer. Maybe it was Wyatt, trying to sneak up on me. "Wyatt, is that you?"

The footsteps were still approaching. How childish. "This is Princess Fawn. Who is there?"

Then he appeared, rounding the corner at sudden full speed. His face was roundish with a wide nose. One eye was blue, the other green. He held a knife.

That was all I saw before the knife went into me.

* * *

_Yeah, I love my cliffies. I know this is a lot to put in the first chapter, but this is stuff I would prefer to get out of the way before I hit the main part. Believe it or not, this is a blatant Cinderella story. Tell me if you think it's too much. And that means please review if you have read this!_


	2. Christine

_Thanks to everyone who has read this! I hope you continue to keep reading, because I'm excited about this story. This is a much shorter chapter than last time, but it's late, I'm tired, and it seemed as good as I place to cut off as any._

* * *

A chillingly fresh breeze whirled over the road, kicking along with it the loose green leaves of late summer. The sun was set midway in the sky, calmly observing the afternoon. One leaf, a sample from a scrubby maple, landed gently and ignored on a man's arm as he strolled past before slipping on the ground. He was an older gentleman, a blacksmith, clearly one that was enjoying the breeze. In some places throughout the land autumn was already showing first threats, though the season had been good and I could not imagine anyone complaining about a little more coolness in their days. I, at least, had no complaints. Weather didn't bother me. I tightened my hood and kept walking down the street. It was a small town, called Whiteberry, I believe, settled in the hills, and frankly there was not a plethora of citizens out and about. A few old women gossiping at a corner, holding baskets full of vegetables, and that blacksmith. I was not sure with who I would work.

I stopped near the women, unseen. Just gossip. Nothing cruel, just the passages of everyday life. Apparently Mrs. Wicker's cow had just calved—extremely late, but a blessing nonetheless. Wisteria and Jack were about to have another grandbaby. How happy. I wondered if their children lived nearby. A baby was always fun to see. I listened for a few moments, then continued on. I hoped their vegetables would taste especially delicious that night.

The blacksmith was whistling a tune now, something bright and jovial. Clearly Whiteberry was not a town known for tragedy. He stopped before a door—his shop, I assumed—fumbled for a key, and let himself in. I followed. I just wanted a peak at his business. Blacksmithing had always been something of a mystery to me. The room inside was dark, but held a certain cozy warmth around the oven and the anvil and all the other strange mysteries of that place. Still whistling, he grabbed a thick leather apron from the wall and tied it about himself. To prevent himself from getting burned. At least that was what I assumed. I hadn't become all that much smarter. If one didn't learn blacksmithing, one didn't know blacksmithing. I glanced around the shop. Everything seemed in order. Nothing dangerous.

It was rather silly putting myself to helping a blacksmith. Rather embarrassed, I slipped out.

The women were still chatting and laughing away at their corner. Two men had appeared, apparently partners. One clutched a box of bread loaves, the other a box of berries. Huckleberries, raspberries, strawberries… I couldn't see what else there was.

Ooh, berries. I had always had a weakness for berries. Nothing had changed that.

I appeared before them (off to the side, actually), smiling my broadest.

The bread salesman returned the smile warmly, as did the berry salesman. "Are you hungry, miss? Needing a loaf of bread for dinner?"

The truth was that I was mostly interested in the berries, but buying a loaf of bread couldn't hurt. "Yes, please. One loaf. And a half pound of mixed berries, sir." I nodded to his friend.

"An extra scoop of raspberries," the man said as he retrieved my order. "It's not everyday we have a customer as pretty as you."

Before I probably would have giggled like an idiotic little girl, but that was before. I smiled again and nodded graciously. "You flatter me."

"No, no, he means it," said the bread man. "Enjoy your meal."

I curtsied as they left. The old ladies at the corner and witnessed the entire incident and had now included it in their session. I blushed. How sweet of them. Now I was the topic of strangers' conversations! I laughed as I popped a strawberry into my mouth. It was delicious. Divine, even.

The main road led out of town, to a small moraine near a creek. I went there, eating berries the whole time. It must have been years since I had eaten berries. They were all but gone by the time I sat down on the largest rock overlooking the crick. The breeze was still holding its own and the slow-moving water ripped with each puff of air. I began to break the bread into tiny chunks and toss it toward the water. Thrushes dove from the trees to nip the bread crumbs from the surface before the miniature currents sucked them away. They were all so determined! I tossed them further, across the creek. Boy, but they sure could fly!

The sad thing was that I could probably entertain myself for hours this way. I hadn't much listened to those who had said I was much too attached to this world, but I suppose it was true. I had turned into a wanderer of sorts. Nothing terribly special, as plenty of others did the same thing. We just happened to like the earth. It had many beauties.

Like the rains of Tamenrook. I sighed as I watched a squirrel attack a few breadcrumbs. Tamenrook seemed so long ago. It had always been such a lovely kingdom in spite of its odd weather. I stood up from my rock. My sense of direction was terrible. Where would be home be in relation to here? Whiteberry, no where?

Eh, I was sure I would wander back there eventually. And I didn't need to wander. The Spirit World had all kinds of marvelous shortcuts and God was far from cruel. But did I truly need to go to Tamenrook immediately? I didn't think so. If so I would have been directed there. My family was in Tamenrook, but so was the body of Gavin Gray, buried unceremoniously in a pauper's grave.

Gavin Gray was the man who had stabbed me in the chest and slit my throat. He had been hung.

I did not shudder. Such things did not matter anymore. It was not the nature of heaven to dwell on such things.

Not that even angels had been rendered perfect.

I finished my berries. Berries were a weakness of mine, always had been. Fresh was always best, but then again there was absolutely nothing wrong with a berry pie or tart, or berries mixed with cream. Maybe there was somewhere I could find a dairy farmer. Or I could be good and ignore it. After all, I did not need to eat. I was still not sure if that was a curse or a blessing. I suppose it did not matter. I had choice, after all. Everyone had choice.

I'm sorry, but the nature of the Spirit World is surprisingly complex and therefore difficult to explain. Ethereally beautiful, heavenly, and yet so much like this earth that sometimes it was impossible to tell them apart. Perhaps that is what I liked best about it, and yet it did not explain why I wandered as I did. Perhaps, in many places, they were one and the same.

I was jerked from my thoughts by the sound of horses and wooden wheels clambering over a rocky trail. I turned around to see the cart appear, laden with an impressive collection of fabric. A wizened old man drove it, an equally wizened old woman at his side.

I laughed. How sweet.

"We're almost to Whiteberry," the old man called.

"Yes, Whiteberry!"

It took me a moment to realize they were not talking to each other. Disappointing. I had rather hoped they were two adorable-but-crazy old fools. There was always something charming about such folk. They might be able to weave cloth but they were out of their senses.

As the cart passed, I saw the other person, the one to whom they had been speaking. She rode at the back, nestled between two bolts of cloth, seeming quite comfortable. For some reason I could not help but stare at her. She was quite pretty, though sadly skinny. The hideous brown dress she wore seemed to drown her. But her face was good, lightly freckled and smiling. Her pale blonde hair was tucked underneath a faded kerchief, but more than some had escaped. There she was, a tiny little elf, riding among the fabric like a small child.

"I still can't believe you rode three hours to shop in Whiteberry!" the old woman called. "Sometimes I worry about you, Christine!"

The girl called Christine laughed. It was almost a cruel laugh, and definitely mischievous—though of course it was coming from a girl that would ride in the back of a cart. I walked closer to the road, unseen. This was getting potentially interesting. "I wouldn't normally, but Lady Melissa insisted upon this town."

Lady Melissa. Where had I heard that name before? Well, this was giving me something to do. I threw the rest of my bread to the squirrels and the birds and ran after the cart. Christine just sat in the back of that cart. Now she looked like royalty instead of the servant she was.

"Thank-you, Mr. Adams!" she called as the cart passed the first house. Wobbling, she stood up.

I gasped. The cart was still moving.

But she did not seem to mind. With only a mild wash of fear over her face, she leapt rather ungracefully to the ground. By which I mean she landed with a groan in a crumpled heap.

Oh, dear. I hurried over, hoping I wouldn't have to heal anything.

But she seemed fine. She picked herself up with a grimace, dusted herself off, and looked around.

The bread salesman was with a customer, but the berry man saw her.

"Hello," he said.

Christine did not curtsy, but waved. "Good day. Are these berries fresh? I am under orders to get them only as fresh as can be."

Good luck with that, if she lived three hours away.

"Very fresh, miss."

"I'll take four pounds."

"Very good, miss. And I shall give you an extra ounce for being such a lovely girl."

Flatterer. And to think I had thought myself the exception. But it seemed that Whiteberry was only beginning to show off its shoppers so perhaps the poor man was desperate.

"The price?" Christine asked.

"Two pieces of silver."

Christine pulled a bag from her pocket and shook out some coins. It would have been much easier to grab from it, the bag was big enough. In fact, during her relentless shaking a coin missed her hands completely, fell to the ground, and rolled to the other side of the street. "Oops. Clumsy me."

"Let me get that for you, miss."

"No, sir, I can grab it myself. It was my own fault." She pressed two pieces of silver into his hand as she pleaded.

He laughed. Such a good man. "I'm a gentleman, miss. I shall retrieve it." He tried to squat down with his box of berries, but it was much too cumbersome. He laughed again. "So it is harder than I expected. I had better be blessed for this. Watch this for me, miss." He set his box down, then went after the coin.

Then, as I watched, Christine, as fast as you please, pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, wrapped it around a huge handful of berries, and placed the whole wrapped crime in her pocket.


	3. The Prickling

I like to think that I am a level or so above being an utterly naïve fool. I had seen plenty of things in my life, the Spirit World, and my wandering; a girl stealing a few berries is hardly the epitome of crime. Do not ask me what was going through my head. Perhaps it was just my proper upbringing coming back to haunt me, as princesses knew the law of the land and that stealing in any form was wrong. Perhaps it was that this elfish little Christine looked far too innocent to be doing anything of that matter. She did not see me, had not seen me at all since her friends' cart had pulled into Whiteberry, and therefore paid no mind to my gasp of horror and whatever hideous look that had gone over my face.

The nice man had hoped to be blessed for fetching Christine's silver!

Speaking of him, he retrieved the fallen coin and looked up to see Christine smiling at him with all the gratitude of a five-year old as she clutched her four pounds of berries. "Here you are, miss. Don't feel ashamed, you are not the first to drop money."

"You are very kind, sir." Her voice was enchanting, nearly angelic. "I hope I wasn't any trouble."

He couldn't help it. She was a charming girl and he fell for her like a box of rocks. His tanned face beamed as he retrieved his less-full box of berries. "No trouble at all, girl. No trouble at all. Is there anything else with which I can help you? You're not from town, are you?"

"No, I'm from the city." Berries swung awkwardly to one arm, she gestured behind her at the path the Adams had come down.

"And you see fit to find a little town in which to shop?"

Christine shrugged. As I stared at her I could notice the bulge of the berries in her pocket and I secretly hoped her pocket, or at least her handkerchief, would be horribly stained. "Whiteberry is famous for its leather and fruits, famous throughout the kingdom. Besides,"—and at this point her voice became less angelic and more mischievous--  
"This is where my stepmother sent me."

"Shop well for her, then." The man seemed ready to continue his sales attempts.

Christine batted her eyes. "Point me to the tanner's?"

I nearly laughed. I could not put my finger on it, but this girl amused me. I suppose I had always been prone to being amused by the vague. She also infuriated me. I could not abide a thief. She might have been amusing, but I tried to tell myself to ignore her. Certainly there was someone in this town I could help. I needed to make a reason for my wandering here and I did not want Christine to be it. But as I watched her chat with the man I could not shake the atmosphere that had fallen over me. The Prickling, I had heard someone else call it.

I had chosen to wander, but the Spirit World was now a part of me. Those who wandered had an angelic duty to help others. But Christine did not need help unless said help would stop her from stealing a poor man's wares!

In the end I decided to go with the excuse of her mention of Lady Melissa.

And so, when Christine had her directions, I followed. She was friendly and made a point to greet every citizen of Whiteberry with obnoxious vim to which they more or less responded well. She walked quick, but with a bounce in her step that said she meant to enjoy every second of her trip to Whiteberry. It was almost hard to keep up with her, me, invisible to the world, wrapped in my hood and cloak, tagging along like a stubborn breeze.

She stopped at the tanner's shop. I think that shop smelled the best. I had never much appreciated leather before, but it had a good, earthy, living smell to it. Many things had living smells, many things I had never noticed before. She charmed the tanner, and he sold her a length and three new sets of reins. He also unwittingly lost a small pouch. A small pouch that made its way into Christine's pocket. I hoped the berries would stain that as well.

I had run into others that would have punished her severely. I was afraid I still did not dare do so.

Leave her, my mind told me. Leave her, ignore her, and move on from this town. But the Prickling was still there, like small shocks from lightening in my heart. And, frankly, I could not wait to see what else she would steal. Five apples. Still very petty for a thief, but I still disapproved.

I followed her throughout the town, followed her lack of any real purpose, followed her as she stopped to talk with others and examine their merchandise without purchasing (or stealing!) it. She was certainly herself, amiable and pretty, and just coquettish enough to entertain, the sort of girl that would travel three hours to shop for her stepmother. Lady Melissa.

I had met a Lady Melissa once.

By the time Christine had reunited with her wizened old friends the Adams I had nearly convinced myself that my fascination with her was only because she was entertaining. It was not everyday one watched a thief. But as she climbed into their now-empty (good for them!) cart, the Prickling came so hard I felt light would burst through my skin.

We had a purpose, those who chose to wander. We helped where we would and could, often unseen and silent. But the Prickling was something else, a calling, a connection to which we desperately belonged. And that Prickling was about to tear me apart! As the horses set into motion I felt like I was falling into the wind on which a little voice seemed to whisper "She's yours."

* * *

The truth is that dying, especially being murdered is just as terrifying as all the stories say. Many say it is peaceful, if the death is natural and at the right timing, and I'm sure it is. But could that possibly change the very real truth that one is torn from this world at the time of death? The universe changes, the light comes, and I do not believe for a second that anyone does not feel any sense of exhilaration and madness when the time comes.

I do not know if I screamed during my death because I do not remember. I remember the face, the differently colored eyes, of Gavin Gray and I remember his knife. I remember seeing the blood oozing from my chest like juice from a tomato. There was no pain when Gavin slit my throat. I think that is because I was partially dead at the time. It was a strange sensation, admittedly, a clean and almost-satisfying cut, smooth. My blood tasted cool, fresh air at that time, though I don't understand why I would feel those if I had been in that musty old corridor at the time. I did not see much of my body on the floor in a red pool, Gavin Gray standing over me with his knife, because I had been torn away then through the flash of light and water that is death. It was like plunging off a cliff.

It is true that Heaven, the Spirit World, whatever you wished to call it, was wonderful. It's meant to be, but it's also connected to the world. That is also meant to be. There were others there, billions and billions, but it was not crowded. It is not peaceful, at least in the definition that peaceful is boring; rather, it's purposeful and good, and those are much better adjectives than peaceful. Even so, I did not stay permanently. I found the borderline between that world and this—many others did the same.

My body had been found hours later by the guard Alan—the one I had called Simon. Several days later Gavin Gray was caught and put on trial. He said he had been hired to kill Princess Fawn. Me. He never revealed his employer for he did not know. My father declared that he would hang by his neck and he did. His neck did not break, and he strangled to death. I did not see him in the Spirit World. I do not know what I would have done if I had seen him.

The truth is that the living are hard to watch. Mama's tears, Father's anger. Wyatt's very face.

So I left and I wandered.

* * *

The Adams dropped Christine off at a house outside a city. It was dark, but I could see the world around me. The city was tucked into the mountains and the stars above were so bright I nearly feared they would fall. I hung to the side of the cart and looked on. The city was like shadow mountains themselves.

"You're not too late for evening chores?" Mrs. Adams asked as Christine scampered from the back of the cart. "Lady Melissa won't be furious, will she?"

"I will simply tell her that they ran late," Christine replied confidently. "She's the one who ordered me to Whiteberry for her stupid reins."

"Will she catch you coming in?" Mr. Adams asked.

"I know other entrances. I was born here, if you remember."

A horse whinnied impatiently, and Mrs. Adams clucked her tongue. In the dark she looked like some wise old goblin. "Your parents would have never approved of this, Christine. They would not have liked this at all."

Christine laughed. "Lady Melissa is very kind. She simply needs help, that's all, and I am happy to oblige."

"God bless your soul, Christine," said Mr. Adams. "Good night, darling."

"God bless."

Little thief. My thought.

The Adams took off down the winding path and Christine, purchases clutched bulkily in her arms, ran behind the house. She was strong for such a little thing.

The house itself was beautiful. I had grown up in Tamenrook's palace, but a house did not need to be large to beautiful. At the same time it was certainly not a poor, tiny place. It had three stories and the wood was good, though mostly covered in creeper vines and roses. I followed Christine. By the time I caught up with here, she was half way up the side of the house. The berries, apples, and leather lay in a pile in the grass, Her skirt was tied between her legs and she, barefoot, was testing the weight those vines could hold. She was so pale she looked like a ghost.

She passed the second story window. Her eyes were focused on the third, a smallish window half-way open. It was like a gaping mouth, it was so black inside. I whisked my may up to that room.

I found myself in a space that had to occupy a good half of the third story. The floor was bare wood, as were the walls. A few books were scattered over the floor, and in one corner lay a squashy mattress covered in a rat's nest of blankets. I picked up a book and opened it. I wasn't sure of the last time I had read a book. But its pages were blank.

There was a gasp and a grunt, and the form of Christine tumbled through the window. She lay where she was a moment, taking in air, and then rose to her feet. She walked to a small table I had not noticed, and in a moment a small candle was burning. In the light I could see her face.

I gasped.

This was not the Christine I had seen in town. The smile was gone.

She placed the candle in a holder and sat back down to eat her stolen berries. She did not wolf them down; she lifted each and every berry specifically into her mouth and chewed slowly.

The little brat from the village was completely gone. She lived in this room. Lady Melissa ran the house.

The same Lady Melissa I had met at that luncheon?

My question was quickly answered. The door suddenly swung open with a flicker of candlelight. There in the doorway stood another girl about sixteen years old. For some reason I could tell on her while Christine's age was a mystery. This girl had blonde hair as well, as she was beautiful—strikingly beautiful. Her nose was pointed, her cheekbones high, her lips full. I could not tell her eye color, but it was dark. At this time her golden hair was in long, thick braids. She wore a pale green nightgown that seemed to glow. "So you're here at least, Christine."

Christine nearly choked on a berry. Her hands fluttered about her handkerchief, wrapping up the last few and sliding the whole into a corner. "Amelia."

Amelia laughed, her candle flickering again. "I surprised you, didn't I? I've been checking on your room for the past two hours. Where have you been?"

Christine rose to her feet. She did not meet Amelia's eyes; instead her gaze fell to the floor. "I was in Whiteberry for your mother. You know that."

"How did you get there?" Amelia's voice was sharp and demanding.

"I went with the Adams—the weavers."

"I know them. I've bought cloth from them for years." Now her voice was like ice. Strange little thing, trying to make such odd conversation.

"They were kind enough to give me a ride," Christine said softly. "I bought the reins for the new horses."

For a long time Amelia merely stood there, the light from her candle bouncing about. And Christine stood there, head down. I stood somewhere between, unseen, watching.

"Mother says there is dishes in the sink," Amelia finally said. "She also says that she no longer prefers Whiteberry if it takes you so much time. Do you have the money purse?"

Christine reached into her pocket and pulled it out.

"Bring it here."

Christine quickly crossed the floor and placed the purse in Amelia's outstretched hand.

"Did you take anything from it again?"

Christine took her head.

That was because she had stolen the goods themselves, but this was probably not the best time for my input.

Amelia opened the purse and studied its contents. Apparently she was satisfied, because she put her hand on the doorknob. "Remember the dishes. And bathe. You smell like rotten fruit."

When the door was shut, Christine uttered a definite "bitch" under her breath.

I had to agree. Something was not quite right in this household.

She bent down to retrieve her berries.

Amelia. Lady Melissa. I tried to think. The Lady Melissa I had met had a young daughter named Amelia, another called Grace. But she had been married to a Lord something-or-other. Is this where they lived? Christine had called Lady Melissa her stepmother. Amelia and Grace had been only young children at the time… it was so difficult to keep track of time…

Christine was licking the last of the berry juice from her stained fingers when I approached. I'm sure I must have looked strange: appearing in her room in a hooded cloak. I let the hood fall back, and my hair tumbled down. "Christine."

Christine let out another swear word that had nothing to do with her stepsister and spun around to face me, the hem of her giant brown skirt whirling like a wheel. She nearly screamed, but common sense put her hand over her mouth.

It is kind of fun appearing randomly, really. "Hello, Christine," I said. "Don't be scared." I spoke softly—I had still never quite got over my shyness.

An odd command. The girl was plenty terrified. Her stained handkerchief fell to the floor and her feet backed her up a few steps.

"My name is Fawn," I said. No longer Princess Fawn. "I'm here to help you."

She did not appear to hear me, for her first words "Who are you?"

"Fawn," I repeated. "I'm an angel."

Her eyes darted to the window. "Where did you come from?" She took a deep breath, clearly realizing just how stupid the question was. "How did you get in here?"

It was a process too difficult to put into words. "I'm here. I saw you in Whiteberry."

She stared at me. "You weren't in Whiteberry."

"You didn't see me." Yes, it was fun to do this. "You stole berries, apples, and a leather pouch."

Her mouth moved for a reply, but nothing came. "You couldn't…" Shakily she lowered herself to the ground. "An angel, you said."

I nodded.

Her face was paler than before, her freckles standing out like those stars outside. "It's rather late for an angel right now, don't you think?" It was a challenge, and for a moment I saw the same girl from the village. But it was a question I did not want to hear. The living had their complaints, many of them.

"You believe me, then?"

She nodded. "Or that I'm dreaming. But I believe in angels." Yet she would not even look at me. "Three winters ago my father caught ever. He suffered for two months before he died."

Complaints, complaints. "I'm sorry." It was all I could say. I had not killed the man.

"It's not your fault," she murmured as she climbed to her feet. "But there was no angel there. Why are you here?"

It was impossible to explain the Prickling to the living, but I had no other answer prepared. "I don't know," I confessed. "I'm here for you. That's all I know."

She sniffed. "I see. Wonderful. But I have dishes to do and you probably are just a dream." With that, she left the room.


	4. Books

So Christine had decided to pass me off as a dream. All right, then. A dream usually implied something pleasant, or at least not a nightmare, and therefore the accusation might as well as be taken as a compliment; besides, I had been called far worse in my short career as an angel in the presence of the spiritually confused deciding that any creature appearing beyond the time of the Old Testament must be a demon. This had only happened once, fortunately, and it had only been on my part a short mission to warn of a drowning child. The truth was that I could count on a few fingers the number of persons to whom I had revealed myself as an angel. It just wasn't a very common thing to do, or otherwise every solitary soul on the street would be claiming visions of heavenly visitors and fairies. I stood moment in the large, empty room—it was as gaping as a cavern and just as chilly—wondering what on earth I would do next. The several other times I had revealed myself had ended up in similar thoughts. Oh, well.

Did I look scary? Did I look like something out of a nightmare? No, Christine had called me a dream and not a nightmare, but I checked myself anyway. Still the same as I had looked at my death, minus the blood and slashes. The physical body was gone but the spirit was the same and I had become used to not aging. I had never thought of my face as terrifying, once I had passed adolescence. Clothing… clothing was different, something similar to being unseen. I picked what I wanted, and the cloak was real enough to me, a dark-colored blend of violet and blue. The cloak was the creepiest thing about me, but I adored it, the way it had fashioned itself out of distant thoughts in my mind, old dreams, memories of stories. I liked my cloak.

I hadn't scared Christine, anyway. I was just being silly. I glanced once more toward the window, and then walked toward the door through which Christine had left. She was still moving, I think; footsteps echoed through the dark house. Darkness was hardly the way to describe it. Here was the true cave. I could not imagine how Christine could see in it. I let my eyes focus. There, to the right, was a plunge of shadow surrounded by soldier-straight posts of a stairway. I waited at the top and stared down into more darkness. There wasn't much up here anyway. The attic. Dust. Bats. Then I headed down. The stairway was a jaunty thing of sharp turns heading to the other two floors. I paused at the second. I could not see much into that particular hallway, but it was nice, much nicer than the world of the house that belonged to Christine. I could see stretches of patterned rug stretching off into the shadows and the angles of frames on the walls. So this was the home of Lady Melissa.

The bottom floor held light. Not much, but what was there spilled out like water from what I could only assume was the kitchen. The stairs ended in the corner of a large hall. The floor was polished wood, I could feel it on my bare feet. Like out of the palace… but I didn't think about that. Bookcases and frames and who knew what else lined the walls, and a simple chandelier hung from the ceiling's center, kitchen light dripping over the crystal pieces. Still not enough to light the room, but the effect was dazzling.

I went to the books first. Of course. They were in terrible condition. That was the first thing I noticed. Terrible condition: worn, broken, smudged, ripped, and all other signs of love save one. A book was only loved if it lacked dust. Clearly someone had cleaned off the fronts—Christine the servant, no doubt—in a showy gesture of impressing visitors with a tidy house, but close inspection revealed that they had not been read in some time. I paused a moment and breathed in their scent. Dust or no dust, it had been ages since I had smelled a book.

Stories. That's what they contained. Stories upon which no one could depend. The dead didn't need the stories of books.

I faced the light pouring from the kitchen. Inside I could hear singing, terribly off-key, a song about shepherd boy who managed to get his entire flock drunk. Oh my. I had not expected quite this much from Christine. Though she had called Amelia a certain word behind her back. But it was an entertaining song, I would give her that, and it was mixed with the sound of splashing water and other such washing-related sounds. I stepped into the doorway. A crackling fire was the reason for the light. It was a small, cozy-looking kitchen. The fireplace sat at the furthest wall, a simple stone being that took up said wall. To the left from there was what I assumed to be a pantry door and a wooden shelf of pots and jars. To the right was a large iron stove and a basin of soapy water where stood the badly singing Christine. Her sleeves were rolled up and her arms were down to those sleeves in the soapy water. In the middle of the room was a wooden cutting table, and above that was a hanging rack from whence black pots and pans dangled. The floor was stone, cold and rough, though I imagined the fire would soon heat that. A broom lay against the wall, a tiny pile of dirt and dust at its fringe.

That single conversation with Lady Melissa flashed unexpectedly through my mind. It was a brief, just a few flashes and voices. But she did not strike me as the type to work in such a kitchen if she could help it. Ah, silly me. That would have to once more be Christine's job.

Little Miss Christine, standing there with a few dirty dishes, singing off-key as the stray bubbles swished about her. I watched for a moment, fascinated. I had never actually washed anyone wash dishes before.

Christine's song ended with the lilt of a few notes. She pulled several soaking plates from the tub with one hand, grabbed a towel with another, and set to drying as she turned around.

Good heaven, she was going to break those dishes.

One survived, actually, by some miracle as the other two shattered into large shards as they hit the stone floor. For some reason the towel remained attached to her hand, though it lay limp in her palm as her eyes fought for me.

I fought that continuous shyness and gave another smile. "Hello again, Christine."

"You," she said. The surprise had clearly worn off. She smacked her dish towel down onto the cutting table with all the fury as if I had just insulted her. "You again. The angel."

"The angel." I nodded. Though I did have a name. I did not want to be known as the angel forever. "My name is Fawn."

Christine continued to stare at me without surprise. Mild interest, maybe. Or a little curiosity as to why a dead girl was in her kitchen. But yes, the surprise had fled with her first word. "You're not a dream, then. Because the broken glass would have awoken me by now." She gave a tiny laugh and let her eyes drop down to the mess of broken plates. "Wow, there is going to be trouble for this. You made me break Melissa's plates."

Like I cared. I smiled again and glanced at the plates. Not a terrible mess. In an instant they were whole again.

I think Christine was mildly impressed. "You are an angel." She crouched down to pick up the repaired plates (and the one that never managed to break). "Thank-you."

"You're welcome." I could not quite decipher the tone of her voice. It seemed to hold something other than gratitude.

"You could have done the dishes for me."

Why, of all the nerve of the girl! It was other than that I had never done dishes before. To even suggest…

"But I don't mind doing dishes," she continued. She crossed the floor to a cupboard I hadn't even noticed and placed the dishes on top of a high stack of copies. "I like the bubbles and it's nice to see something become clean. It's one of the better tasks around here."

"Is that sarcasm?" I asked.

"I thought you were the angel." Maybe she wasn't impressed. "All I'm saying is that you picked a very good time to show up in my life." She made sure the stack of dishes was straight and carefully shut the glass door. "Now that is sarcasm, angel."

What a strange little bird. I had never experienced this reaction before. Being called a demon. The others were simple amazement. We had not even conversed this long. Why in heaven had the Prickling occurred for her? One possible answer slid unbidden… the connection to Lady Melissa. I shook it away. "And when would you have preferred me to appear in your life?"

She sniffed and returned to the tub to fetch out more dishes. "Don't get me wrong; I find this all very fascinating. Exciting, even. Not everyone has an angel show up in their living quarters after spying on them. Forgive me for not showing my enthusiasm, but I'm tired and I just don't have the energy to express everything." Her voice was biting. "I just cannot fathom why I would need an angel."

I didn't know, either. That brat Amelia? "You mentioned a father." Somehow I was sure this was supposed to be much more impressive. If only I knew what I was doing here! "You said your father died three winters ago."

She nodded coldly. "Yes, my father. That would have been a perfect time to appear. Though I don't know what angels do. What would you have done then? Saved his life?" She paused, a kettle half-way dried. "No, I don't think you could have. He wouldn't have wanted it. I'm sure he would have wanted to escape Melissa." She ended with a laugh, a laugh that actually sounded happy.

Again with Lady Melissa. "I'm here to help. I'm sorry about your father." I had already apologized before, upstairs. "I'm sure he was a good man."

"He was a very good man." She climbed to the top of the cutting table to hang the kettle. "The best I've ever met." She balanced at the edge of the table, then hopped gracefully to the floor. "This is a nice moment. Talking to an angel. Though you could still be a dream. I could break things in dreams."

"Would you prefer me to be a dream?"

She studied my face for a long time, without fear. "No, actually. I like the idea of an angel, even though I still don't know how you'll be of much use to me if you can't even help with dishes. I'm not clumsy, you frightened me, so I do not intend to need your help fixing things ever again."

Yes, definitely a strange little bird. The skinny little thing she was, clambering over furniture in a kitchen. She still amused me, though not quite as much as she did in the village. "You're not afraid of me, are you?"

"No. Not now. I admit you were somewhat terrifying when you first appeared and you cannot blame me for being afraid then. But to be perfectly honest about this whole bizarre situation, angel, you almost seem afraid of me."

That took me back. Did I?

"I suppose so," she said with a shrug and slightly less confidence. "This is my first experience with an angel, after all, so I can't claim to be an expert on how an angel should act. But I don't need your help, so you might as well be off."

That was her claim. "Are you so sure?"

She blinked. "Huh?"

I felt a little more power against her. "Are you so sure you don't need my help? I watched you today. I watched you flirt and charm and steal. Then you were an entirely different person in front of Amelia. "You saw Amelia?"

"Your stepsister, I assume."

She nodded.

"You were afraid of Amelia."

For a moment Christine was just as terrified as she had been when she first saw me. For one moment I thought she would crumple. But the moment was only a moment, and she was back. "You don't know a thing about Amelia. You don't know a thing."

"But she is your stepsister?"

"I already answered that question." She ripped open a drawer from beneath the cupboard and pulled from it… a book. "She is my stepsister. She is the younger daughter of Lady Melissa Arnston and—"

"And Grace is the elder," I finished.

"How did you know that? I never mentioned Grace."

I barely heard her. Melissa, Grace, and Amelia. It had to be the Lady Melissa I had met. This confirmed it. But what did it mean? I would fall into connection with a woman I had met on one visit?

And Lady Melissa had been from…

Christine strode past me to the fireplace, where she plopped herself down. She opened the book deftly to a page nearer to the end than not and began reading.

As much as I hated to interrupt someone reading, I had to know. "When did your father marry your stepmother?"

Christine sighed and slammed the book shut. "A little over seven years ago."

Oh, dear. I had angered her.

But she kept talking. "Yes, seven years ago at the end of this past May. Her husband Lord Arnston had passed away a year before that. Never met him. Never even heard of the family until they called on Papa."

"Your mother?" I ventured.

She shrugged and ran a finger over the cover of the book. This one was as worn as the others, but it was not dusty. "I don't remember her. She died when I was two. I was to have a little sister, but neither of them survived the birth."

"I'm sorry." I promise, I was only trying to be sympathetic.

"Again, not your fault. It's all right. Perhaps my baby sister was not meant for this world and Mama went with her. I had Papa and he was wonderful. He was a historian. Not King Richard's, but the family commissioned him. We were wealthy. Probably why Lady Melissa was interested. And, angel, I thought she was nice in the beginning!"

I hadn't liked her at all.

"Papa courted her for nearly six months. Then they married. She brought in the two rats known as Grace and Amelia. And then Papa died."

And clearly the rest was history.

"Why didn't you leave?" I asked.

For a long time she said nothing. Perhaps she had not heard me? "Where would I go? Here, at least, I have food and a roof over my head. Papa left everything to Melissa."

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

Now that I looked at her, I would have assumed younger. "But you're so lively outside!"

"That's outside." She flipped casually through her book. "In here…" she took a deep breath. "In here it's a completely different story and I don't expect you to understand. Now, if you don't mind, I would like to get in a few minutes of reading."

That bluntly ended the conversation. Christine returned to her reading. She did not even seem to mind that I was there. I watched her as she read, her eyes feverishly devouring the pages. She read fast, faster than I had ever read.

Finally I grew bored of watching her, that strange little girl. We were off to an odd start, whatever we were supposed to be doing. I again took in the kitchen. It was very nice, I decided. I didn't often let myself into the homes of others, though I did like to watch through windows on occasion. Homes were strange things, places were people lived. All so different. The palace of Tamenrook had been my home. I hadn't let myself think of it in so long. I might as well let myself indulge. What would Father and Mama be doing right now? Sleeping, if they were sensible people. But other than that. I suppose life in Tamenrook would go on like it always would. Palace business and politics would run on as usual. Rains and drizzles would come along with their clouds. They would wonder what on earth they would do for an heir. Perhaps I had a brother or sister I knew nothing about.

I missed them all terribly. But I had not let myself go back. I could not stand it. The Spirit World existed along this one, but the fact was that I was no longer alive. I had been brutally murdered before my engagement ball.

And yet that life had flown back in a rush with the mere mention of Lady Melissa. Lady Melissa, wife of a nobleman. A visitor to a simple engagement ball. The engagement ball I had never attended because a man named Gavin Gray preferred to see me dead. Lady Melissa, in the party train of Sunelle.

Sunelle. King Richard. I had never let myself think as much during Christine's talk. Lady Melissa had been from Sunelle. King Richard had commissioned work from Christine's father.

"Christine," I said softly.

"What?" she snapped.

"What is the name of this kingdom?"

"Sunelle."

I was not sure if it were real, but blue diamond and green emerald flashed before my eyes.


	5. Sunelle

It was not as if I hadn't suspected it from the beginning. All the names floating around like mists over a swamp, Lady Melissa, her daughters. Any fool could guess that I was in Sunelle. Why I kept my brain away from the concept I was not sure; perhaps it was just out my now-habit of thinking as little of my life as possible? I paced the kitchen, this version of my heart pounding madly against my ribs as I chewed at my lip in the most childish way imaginable. Hardly proper-looking for an angel, but then again I liked to think I would have some power in deciding those traits; I had done nothing evil. The firelight flickered shimmering shadows against the wall which mixed with my panic until I felt all at once dizzy and drunk. I finally forced myself to stop moving my bracing my hand against that little table in the middle of the kitchen. Christine continued reading as if I did not exist. Well, if she still thought me a dream, then I might as well not exist to her at all. She just sat in her spot, book propped up against her knees while I worried like the living. It was entirely embarrassing, on the still sane interpretation of my mind, and I was glad she was not watching me.

Sunelle. Of course I was in Sunelle! It was my own fault for not daring to think of it earlier. Where else could I be but Sunelle? And it had always been there at the back of my mind, chewing its way like a little worm through the thoughts I had pushed away so long ago. Sunelle was supposed to have been made meaningless, as was Tamenrook.

What had brought me here? Only the Prickling? Or did I even dare say "only" when something as mystical as the Prickling was concerned? I didn't know. Heaven still held too many mysteries and it was beyond me to try to figure them all out. Fate? Was I even sure I believed in cold-hard fate? I closed my eyes, letting the still image of Christine fade away.

Pain. Pain was the first thing I felt, a glowing red line of searing fire running straight through my soul, unexpected as the first clap of thunder. Though I suppose it should have been expected. And as that red line faded away I could see his face, Wyatt's face, like earth against a rare starlit sky.

Why was I in Sunelle? Somehow coincidence seemed too strong a word. I hated to go back to that whole ridiculous fate line.

I tried not to think about Wyatt any more than I could help, just like I tried not to think of anyone else more than necessary, at least in ways I should not think of them. I missed him terribly. I always had missed him terribly. That was the worst thing about dying, missing him. Even more so than not knowing why Gavin Gray had killed me.

"You're still here." It was Christine's voice, light and airy against the chaos in my mind. I opened my eyes to see her standing in the same place in which she had read, book now vanished to its hiding place. There was a hint of surprise in that voice, as if she had expected to fly away to whatever dream world from which I had come.

"I'm still here," I replied breathlessly. Focus, Fawn. Focus. You are here to assist Christine. You are here for Christine.

Christine smiled, the kind of smile usually reserved for jokes. "You're something of an irritation, Fawn. You stand there while I try to read."

She had been reading. I stared at her. "Do you mind?"

She shrugged. "Not really, no. But it's still kind of rude and I hope you don't think you will be hanging by my side, because I have to get up early and it's already ridiculously late. I will be sleeping and I would rather not have you in my room, so I bid thee goodnight." And with that and a whirl of that giant brown skirt she headed out the kitchen, the echoes of her feet pounding up the stairs not far behind.

As was surely obvious, I did not spend a lot of time worrying about Christine that night. The brat had already done the damage—though I admit to being the one to asking the kingdom—and I found myself thoroughly obsessed with whatever memory of Wyatt could pull. Our first meeting. A boat ride. Ballets. Picnics. Mostly just… talking… and being together. Wasn't that the most important?

As these memories flooded through me I wandered the house—never to Lady Melissa's room or the rooms of her blood daughters. But the house fascinated me. Perhaps I should have taken more opportunities to wander the homes of strangers in my time of death. It was charming, in most aspects. The kind of house that would have been romantically haunted with only one blood-drenched ghost dragging its chains through the dusky halls. Paintings lined the walls—natural scenes, the best kinds. Also portraits of people I did not recognize, though on some I found striking resemblances to Amelia and what I could remember of Lady Melissa and Lord Arnston. The intruders. One could tell by those paintings. Some of the people weren't even all that attractive. I wondered what paintings lined the hall of Wyatt's home. The royal palace of Sunelle.

It was no longer that far, the still-strange country of which I was supposed to be queen. Wow, what a time of life. I was here in Sunelle. Where was the palace?

No. Sometimes I was good at abruptly commanding myself.

Christine did not lie—she did get up early. Before I knew it my ears were met by the sound of her pounding once more down the stairs, singing her little off-key song, the same as the night before. I decided not to bother her, to let her do her thing. She would be fine. Yet I could hear her in the kitchen, preparing a breakfast that smelled delicious, singing to herself against the clatter of dishes.

Soon enough the rest of the household was awake.

Who I assumed to be Grace was the first to appear; she didn't look familiar to me, though it was clear she was Amelia's sister. The golden hair was the same, her piles into a netted knot so I could not judge the length. She was just as beautiful as Amelia, but shorter and softer, rounder of face. I remained unseen as she came down the stairs, trying to judge her. She seemed to enjoy the morning, as it was still rather early yet. "Christine?" She hung near the bookshelf, utterly ignorant of what they held.

More clatter of plates from the kitchen? "Is that you, Grace?" I tried to judge the voice, but it was nothing more than a question.

"You're up early," replied Grace.

And what else would you demand? I thought rather rudely. Grace had done nothing yet.

"To make breakfast." Christine was a little short in her answer.

"You were late last night." An accusation. It was sudden, from no where.

"Errand," came Christine's voice. "In Whiteberry. The leather and the berries. They're in the porridge this morning."

"Did Mother ask for it?"

Oh, who cared?

"She won't be complaining."

I watched as Grace's full lips pursed themselves, and her eyes stared at the light from the kitchen. For one giant moment I felt an icy chill, and then just as quickly it was gone. My curiosity piqued, and I suddenly hoped that Grace would say more, but she only turned a corner into what I had learned was the dining room.

Melissa and Amelia did nothing when they appeared about ten minutes later, only slid into the dining room by routine. Amelia looked as haughty as ever.

I followed them into the dining room.

The three women sat next to each other in a row of one side of the oak table. It was rectangular and rather ordinary, though I could sense the skill that had been placed into it. No doubt something Christine's father had purchased. He seemed more and more like a practical sort of man. But enough about that, sometimes I find myself a little too observant with furniture. Truly it was Grace, Amelia, and Melissa that fascinated me. Sadly because of all the things Christine had suggested. They spoke to each other, which for some reason I can't put to words surprised me—I guess I half-expected them to be utterly icy to one another. But it was not so. It was the same rather tedious chatter that would be expected of any women.

They seemed to like each other. Lady Melissa seemed to like her daughters.

Why had I hated her so much that first time I had seen her? I had sensed a vibration from here, something utterly distasteful, and she had made such insinuations about the subject of balls. Again, nothing I could put into words. But it was here. It was still here, even as she talked with her lovely daughters.

Then Christine appeared, pushing through a set of swinging doors holding a tray of the sweet-smelling breakfast—muffins.

Amelia gave a squeal of happiness. "Muffins! I love muffins!" Seemingly polite enough, though I had the distinct impression that all implied gratitude was for the muffins only.

"The berries you purchased yesterday?" Melissa asked. Her voice was lower. I remembered it being higher than this.

Christine nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

Melissa bit into a muffin and chewed slowly. She looked pleased; indeed, my own stomach was longing for a bite and I did not even need food. "A good choice for them. Very good indeed."

"Thank-you," Christine said softly. She had not looked directly at them ever since she had come into the kitchen.

"I have a list of things I need you to get from the market," Melissa continued as if she were doing nothing more than discussing the weather. "I have a list prepared. This is groceries only, nothing like the leather you purchased yesterday. You still have the money I gave you then, don't you?"

Christine said nothing.

Amelia pulled a baked berry from her muffin and delicately put it into her mouth.

Melissa set down her own muffin, her eyes suddenly blazing into Christine. "I gave you money yesterday. Where is it?"

"I gave it to Amelia last night." I barely heard her voice.

"Amelia," said Melissa. "Did you take the money from Christine?"

Now it was Amelia's turn to say nothing.

"Amelia, darling? Don't play this game."

"Yes," Amelia said nonchalantly. "It's in the study. I thought it would be safe there."

I wondered if I dared trust Amelia.

Melissa considered that. "Good place for it. Thank-you."

"You're welcome, Mother."

Grace just looked disgusted. "I can't believe you trust Christine with the money."

Melissa returned to enjoying her muffin. Mind you, this was all taking place with Christine just standing there like a ninny. "She is a wonderful buyer. She can haggle. She's the one that found you that excellent price on that silk you wanted."

Grace's look changed to a smile. "Oh, yes, I had forgotten about that. Christine, I have a few other things I also need you to get. I'll put it on the list."

Christine nodded demurely. "Good day." Then she turned back to the kitchen. I followed.

"The list will be on the table when you are ready!" Melissa called. "Leave whenever you would like."

Back in the kitchen, Christine was knocking dishes into the tub. Not many, just a mixing bowl, a spoon, and her muffin tin. "Angel, Fawn, are you watching me?"

I appeared, wondering how in the world she had sensed me there. "Yes."

"I shouldn't talk to you," she replied, suddenly blushing. "If they hear me they'll think I'm crazy."

"I don't think you should care about they think of you."

"I just hate their remarks." She was stepping into black slippers, pulling them around her ankles. "I want to get to the market as soon as possible, before all the good stuff is gone."

I had never wandered the market nearly enough. "So you've decided to believe in me?"

She nodded and brought her voice down to a whisper. "I thought about it last night. I'm going to think of it as an adventure. Can you give me adventure, Fawn?"

"I'm not exactly sure what that is supposed to mean."

"You're the angel." She nodded at the room around her. "Do something. Get this place clean."

She had to be joking. I had no intention of helping her by doing her chores! But she looked so pointedly that I found myself sighing. "All right. But only once. I'm not a servant."

She laughed. "It's not such a bad life."

Maybe I was just too lazy. I waved my hand at the room and in an instant it was sparkling clean.

Christine laughed again, louder. At least she was taking these events in stride. "I wish I could do that. Come, let's go. I assume you are going to be following me."

Because she was going into Sunelle. I could not avoid Sunelle. Not that… whatever… had brought me here. "Your stepsisters," I began with no idea of where I would take that opening phrase.

"They want me to go. I'm doing this for them. Hurry, we'll be late."

It was still early. Then again, I wasn't used to the usual ways of sleeping. Perhaps there was a time distortion I had missed. As it was, Christine was booking it out of that house as if there was no place on earth she would rather not be. I suppose that was true enough.

She literally ran to the city, her long legs skimming over the dust and plants like she were flying. I was behind her, amazed. I had never been much for running—fortunately running was not necessary for keeping up with Christine and I probably would have killed myself if it were and I were not already dead.

I took the time to properly examine Sunelle, at least its natural landscape. Mountains. There were a lot of mountains, green and rocky things pointing like teeth behind the capital city. And there were trees. And, unlike Tamenrook, there was sunlight, golden sunlight scattered among puffy white clouds that reminded me vaguely of sheep. Even the ground we now covered was rockier than Tamenrook, not nearly as green and weedy.

I had seen mountains before. I had seen many things in my wanderings. But these mountains were different. They seemed to envelope Sunelle, like at any moment they would tumble down and bury the city, somehow without damaging it. The city was not walled and the buildings were high, skinny, scraping things that also seemed part of the surrounding mountains. The dusty path soon turned into cobbled street of red and brown rocks, and suddenly I found myself almost suffocating in the city roads. Christine was not bothered; rather, she came alive.

So this was Sunelle.

Honestly, I had seen busier cities. Tamenrook was busier, for example. Honestly, the city, now that I was in it, was fairly generic as far as cities go. And this was the city of which I was supposed to be queen. That changed perspective just enough that I could not help but gawk at the passing people and the high-standing buildings. I was in a whirl of color and sound. Part of my mind mentioned that it had been a very long time since I had entered a large city, but it was still as if I were an infant.

Christine immediately settled into her cheerful and sometimes flirtatious greetings. I don't think she knew most of the people to whom she spoke, but that didn't matter. Oh, well. I suppose everyone admires a friendly soul and at least she was not stealing things. Yet.

And somehow despite all her friendliness she was still running, all that blonde hair whipping out behind her as she dodged, smiling, the people.

"What's the hurry?" I whispered.

She did not reply, though her nose twitched at my words. "I don't want to be late."

"Late for what?" I had never gone shopping; maybe I just did not know how these things worked.

She rounded a corner into what I assumed, by the look of things, was the market square, a bustling arena of shops and stands of all sorts of things. But rather than dashing to the nearest thing of interest (or stepfamily's interest) she fell back against a shady stone wall, finally catching her breath.

"Well," I said. "We're here." I joined her against the wall, relishing the chill of the stone.

"I'm sorry for running," she whispered. "It might not even happen. It's always just a chance but…"

Of the market existing on any given day? I stared at this phenomenon known as the market, the one that was so important to Christine. I saw nothing wonderfully interesting… good grief, but Christine was up to something.

How fascinating. At least the girl was intriguing. A list of possibilities ran through my head… one of them had to be reasonable and I had read plenty of novels during my time. "All right, who is he?"

She did not even try to defend herself. She blushed and took one small step away from the wall. Again I was reminded of how much she looked like a ghost. "The Royal Family finds it important to the morale of the city to visit several times a week," she recited. "One of them always passes through this square."

The Royal Family? "Of Sunelle?"

"No, Itia," she retorted. "Of course Sunelle. Who else?"

"They come through here?" I was sounding like an idiot, but I did not care. "How often?" She had just answered that question.

"I already told you."

"Who is in the Royal Family?"

"The King, the Queen, and the Crown Prince."

Prince Wyatt. "So this is why you really come to the market?"

She shrugged. "I find it fascinating. After all, my father did have commissions from them. They are good people."

Of course they were good people. I found my eyes joining her gaze into the square. I was sure I would recognize him if he came. I know I would. A dozen questions filled my mind, each sillier than the last, and it was only by sheer will power I didn't ask them at the risk of embarrassment. I was supposed to be the angel here. "Where does this…" I wasn't sure what to call it and I had been involved in things of the type. "Procession… begin?"

She shrugged again. "I… I've never found out. I was here on accident when I first noticed. Then I noticed the pattern. I'm not really sure."

Probably toward the palace. I stepped into the square. "Careful talking to me. People might think you're mad."

"Clearly I am, Fawn." At least she had stopped calling me angel. "Why are you so curious? How do you plan to help me here?"

I was still at a complete loss for just how I was supposed to help her and tragically she was not the first thing on my mind. "I've never been to this city." That was the truth. "I want to see interesting things about it." Also the truth.

Christine fell into step behind me. "I should probably buy some things while I'm here…"

She had run all the way to the city and now she had become a coward. Never mind her, I told myself. I knew where she lived. I would find her again.

But this was not wise. I wasn't supposed to think of Wyatt. It had been far too long.

Years.

What had become of him? Did he still think of me? What did he look like? When was he set to run the kingdom?

I floated invisible through the crowds. Christine only could see me, and she was right at my heels. I was amazed she had not yet left me as the insane. Though that probably would have been all the more odd. She no doubt found this fascinating.

"Fawn," she whispered. "Fawn, it's nothing, just a thing I like to watch because I find it exciting. We don't have to…"

"Yes, we do," I whispered.

A pause. "Does it have something to do with me?"

I did not mind half-lies. "Yes."

"I don't see why…"

I held a finger to my lip. My eyes scanned the area. We were no longer in the square, but in another street, shady and cool. I stopped for a moment, my heart giving a sudden thump…

A horse approached, crowd partially pulling to the side. A part of me was offended that they would not show respect for royalty, but then again Christine said this was fairly common. The horse trotted down the middle of the road, a brown stallion with rich black leather reins. Upon it sat Wyatt.

It was as if I had been dumped in ice and fire. All I could do was stare.

He was the same, in all reasonable aspects. The first thing I noticed was his eyes, his beautiful eyes. And his face still held that same stubborn stubble, scratchy. I wanted to feel it against my hand. And he smiled, his same quiet smile. He was older, that was to be expected.

There was a gasp behind me. Christine, I quickly realized. I had forgotten about her.

In fact, I wished she would go away.

"This is the Crown-Prince," she explained in a hushed voice.

I nodded. I knew that. Why would I not know that?

I locked my eyes with his, suddenly begging him to see me. Only he could not see me. Did I want him to see me? No, I was not crazy and neither was he. But I had to be crazy, because just the same I found myself walking toward the oncoming horse.

"Fawn!" Christine hissed. "Angel!"

I froze. No.

Wyatt smiled at the people, who seemed to think him as little more than just another person, though I'm sure they knew better. How could anyone not tell that Wyatt was a prince?

I had to stop him. I don't know why I had to stop him, but I could not let him go by. Not after so long. Not when I could finally smell him again.

I do not know what made me do it, but I did. I reached over and yanked the bag of money from Christine's hands.

"Hey!" She dove for the bag.

It slipped from my own hands and it, followed by that clumsy girl, fell right into the path of the horse.


	6. Stars

Christine hit the ground, fingers clutching at the gritty dust beneath her as a cloud of it billowed around us, her head banging unwillingly into something more solid. I saw her cringe. The money bag's tie burst open, spilling coins like syrup out of bottle. Christine did not try to gather them up; her eyes were squeezed shut, whether by force or actual unconsciousness I could not tell. It all happened so fast.

Oh, dear. I had never intended to be a murderer.

What followed next was a blur of images that tried to force themselves to the front of importance as fast as possible. Someone screamed. I ran for Christine. The brown stallion kicked back with a whinny of insult. A flurry of people ran for Christine as well, whether to help her or snatch the spilt coins I did not know or care. For the other image was perfectly clear, Wyatt, swinging off of his horse as if off of a rope with the way his strong hands clutched the reins and drug the horse's head. The horse himself pounded the ground once before calming.

Cautiously Christine opened one eye, one wide eye, green and frightened. A young boy, both brave and stupid as boys go, already had her arm in a sweet, vain attempt to help her to her feet. "Are you all right, miss?"

I stopped just over her. Heavens, I had nearly killed her with my idiotic little stunt. "Christine," I said, and that was it. I had never been in such a situation where I had to speak to someone who had tried to kill me, and I certainly was not aware of the necessities of the reverse.

The other eye now open, she glared at me with sheer hellfire.

A guard grabbed the horse's reins from Wyatt as he joined us in front. Already it seemed as if half the population of Sunelle had gathered to watch their beloved prince trample young girls. Oh, the joke it might have been! I tore me eyes from Christine to watch him, dead-pale behind the stubble. Could he not shave? His eyes were on Christine. Of course they would be. He had nearly killed her. Wyatt would not take this time to carry on old gossip. But as he passed, he brushed me with his elbow.

Now the living could not feel me unless I wanted them to. Only Christine could see me now. I had never asked anyone what they might feel, but no one ever seemed dreadfully bewildered. To Wyatt I was air, a patch of space where no one stood at the moment. Nothing. But I felt him. His elbow caught me a little above the waist, striking my ribs. Not painfully, but with heat. Living heat that I could practically taste. I shuddered as he passed. Why was this happening?

And then it was over, and there was Christine, looking thoroughly stunned (though I still sensed a glare meant solely for me) as she nodded briefly to the crowd. "Miss!" he spoke, the same voice I remembered. "I am so sorry! I did not see you…" He blushed faintly, though it was striking compared to that ashen pallor. "… which I realize is no excuse. I did not see you fall."

I almost laughed. Wyatt was known for having his head in the clouds at times.

Christine shook her head. Her eyes, to my surprise, were not on him but dutifully on the ground. Ah, yes. Manners to royalty. I had almost forgotten. "No, no, Your Highness. It is not your fault. I was…"

Clumsy?

"I was pushed."

My mouth fell open as the rest of the observers let out gasps that might as well have announced my murder, and a dozen pairs of eyes looked around in pure accusation. Thank goodness no one could see. Even so I wanted to skulk into the ground for hiding. It was like being a child again. Instead, I returned the filthy look she had sent me. Brat.

"Who pushed you?" Wyatt demanded. I hoped he wouldn't say it was attempted manslaughter.

That caught Christine. Her expression fluttered, and her gaze jumped up to the crowd. "I…"

"You did not see them?"

Another long pause as we all waited. What sort of game was she playing? A slow smile crept onto her mouth to settle, one of adorable apology. She was good. "I'ms certain it was an accident, Your Highness," she said in the sweetest voice I could imagine anyone could muster. "It was crowded on the street and you were coming… Perhaps I should not have said pushed. It had to be an accident."

Accident. If she had any idea who Wyatt was to me…

"An accident," he repeated. His hands loosened. I hadn't realized he had them clenched. His face relaxed into something relating to a smile. "Are you sure?"

She shrugged. Her eyes were now on him, somewhat nervous but still irritatingly charming. "It had to be. I dropped my money bag and I guess I wanted it bad enough to go in after it." To prove her point she dropped gracefully back to the ground and scooped the coins back into the bag. "I'm sorry to be such a bother."

"You did make this morning a little interesting," said a guard with a mustache like a walrus.

Wyatt laughed, and my heart melted. I hadn't heard him laugh in so long, I had forgotten what it sounded like.

And Christine chimed in, sounding much like she had the prior day. "Well, if it does please Your Majesty. But I still apologize."

He bowed before her, sturdy and deep. He had always been a decent one for bows, though the two of us had always secretly thought them silly when used too much. Sometimes he had made fun of the ways other would bow, mimicking them with passion to the extreme until I could scarcely breathe for laughter. This wasn't like him, and a bitter taste filled my mouth. I could not place it. "Then," he continued, "All I ask of you is that you be more careful."

"A market is a scary thing to navigate, Your Highness," she replied, adding in a late "In my defense, of course."

That only made him and the guard laugh again.

The little servant girl was a flirt! Of course she was a flirt. I had seen her in action the day before. But I had met plenty of women of the same manner, and I shoved it out of my head. This was Christine. For what was I worried? She dipped into her own curtsey, and before I knew it Wyatt had climbed back onto his horse and was trotting off.

And all I could do was stand where I was and stare after him. It was like I was dying all over again, but then fireworks burst through me and I smiled. Wyatt. I had seen Wyatt. He had touched me.

I was only distantly aware of the commotion that now surrounded Christine. I did not know anything of the balance between commoners and royalty in Sunelle, but apparently, as much as Wyatt and his parents liked to come through town, it was still novel to have one of them speak directly to you. The girl had managed to collect her own little circle of cheers.

When Wyatt was out of distance, I turned back to her as she finally broke away from the crowd with the excuse about finishing her shopping. Despite the evil looks of earlier she scurried to my side, face beaming and moneybag held between her hands like a bouquet. "Wasn't that exciting?"

"You were nearly trampled," I said softly as we made our way back to the shadowy sides. "That horse could have killed you."

"I'm sure the horse was a dear."

"He was a big horse!" I breathed in the chill air of the shadows. It managed to clear my spinning head well enough. "Though I guess if you find death interesting…"

"Death is morbid," she replied with loud distaste. "By the way, in case you forgot, you, Miss Fawn Angel, were the one who stole the coins from me and threw them into the street!"

And to think that I was not even sure why I did so. I blushed. It was like being caught for a naughty deed as a child. I was feeling so much like a child! "I'm sorry. I just…"

"Just what?"

"I was interested in seeing the prince, and it seemed as good a way as any to stop him."

"To nearly kill the girl you claim you want to help." Christine nodded firmly, though her eyes still sparkled as if she had just stolen another pound of berries. "Besides, as you are clearly not aware, I'm not referring to that near-trampling incident. I am referring to meeting Prince Wyatt."

At least she had good taste in what was exciting. She had even managed to get up the courage to tease with him. "In all the days you have spent watching for the family, this is the first time you have been so close."

"Yes'm." She stopped at a fruit stand and began to examine the lemons. "I certainly did not expect this, and you made it possible. I'm sorry that I was angry with you after I fell. Now I have a story that my stepmother and sisters will never believe." She picked four lemons and handed money to the seller, an old woman who was apparently deaf, for she did not look up at Christine chattered away to me.

"Is that all that matters to you?" A story to keep for herself? I found myself once more playing in a dusty old library making up my own secret games.

"What else would it be good for?" She moved on, now seeming quite content to shop now that the adventure was done for the day. "It's not every girl that is nearly run over by royalty"

She had that right. I laughed. "You surprise me, Christine."

"Thank-you. But I am still curious as to why you were so interested in seeing him."

I thought that my first temptation would be to spill my entire story, but my tongue was frozen in my mouth. I could not speak a word of it, and to my surprise I had no desire, no instinct to say anything about my life. It wasn't for her to know. It was a lifetime ago. "I guess I was just what you said. Curious."

Christine stepped out into the sun. "It's getting chilly in the shade." Her closed her eyes, looked up, and sighed. "I love the outdoors. I want to go fishing."

"Fishing?" I echoed in horror. Then I reminded myself that she was a servant, after all, even if against her will.

"Mm. Yes. Fishing. It's very relaxing, and with the weather changing as it is there won't be more than a few weeks left to do so. Speaking of which, I need peaches."

I was not sure what peaches and fish had to do with each other, but I followed her to the next stand as she charmed a few extra fruits out of a few less coins.

I had been nothing like her in life.

Christine continued to flirt and play her way through the rest of the shopping, preferring to wander and stare rather than directly go to more than three stands at a time. It was a clear delay, an effort to not return to house. I could not blame her, not with the people that lived there. As for me, I had found that incredibly my mind had slipped away from thoughts of Wyatt. And finally there it was, the sun climbing toward noon like a perfect ball of fire in clear blue. Tamenrook had rarely seen such a sight. It also signaled the end of Christine's shopping.

"Well," she said softly as she took the last of her spices. "I guess that's it for today. Let's go."

We walked in silence from the city, the house looming toward us before I knew it.

"You don't seem like you want to go back," I finally said.

She rolled her eyes. "No, not really. I'm sick to death of my idiotic family. I don't think you would want to go back, either. But I have to. I'm hungry and I did not bother to steal any food."

Stealing. Oh no. "Christine, did you steal something?"

I expected her to deny it, but after a moment's hesitation she revealed a bracelet from her pocket.

Good grief. "Christine!"

"What?" The fact that she had stolen once more did not seem to bother her. "It's cheap and the seller beats his animals. He deserves to lose this."

"You can't steal," I scolded.

"And you don't seem to be wanting to give me anything nice. And every once in a while I like something nice. And this happens to be it."

I knew plenty of other heavenly angels that would march her right back to the city to return the jewelry, but, to be perfectly honestly, I was rather amused. I would have never dared steal something. "How often do you steal?"

"Not often." Her face revealed neither truth nor lie.

"What if your stepsisters ask about it?"

She shook that mane of gold and smiled proudly. "I will probably just tell them it belonged to my mother. Or something. I do still have trinkets from my parents, things with which they don't bother."

"Where do you keep them?" I thought of that bare little floor of hers with its books and piles.

"I have my secrets, Fawn. Plenty of secrets. Humans have them as well. They're not just for angels."

I opened my mouth to ask what exactly she meant by that, but no voice came out. It was probably nothing. We had only met the night before.

We were now at the house, that pretty little house that was run by such morons. I paused, but Christine kept walking in like she owned the place. By all accounts, she should own it, but apparently the marriage laws had won out. I followed her into the kitchen, where she dumped her groceries and set to making a soup.

"They will probably want fresh bread," she mused as she chopped vegetables. "I just bought a loaf at the market. Slightly stale. Would you mind warming it up?"

"No," I said.

"No?"

I smiled. "It's your punishment for stealing that bracelet."

I half-expected a retort, but she also smiled and nodded in defeat. "All right, then. If that is how it's going to be. If they complain, I shall blame my fairy godmother."

Fairy godmother. That had a nice ring to it. I slipped from the kitchen before she could ask me to do another stitch of work and pounded up the steps to do a little more exploring.

During that little excursion I found Grace, clumsily trying to paint a bowl of fruit. She was doing a most terrible job. I found that rather funny.

* * *

That night it returned, the vivid memory of Wyatt, so intensely I could not remain in that house, wandering like a ghost. Christine fell asleep early, curled up like a puppy on her little mattress, still in her work clothes. I watched her for a moment. We had not spoken since lunch—she had just been too busy, the poor thing. Melissa worked her like a slave, what with the cooking and the cleaning. No, it was probably not fair to say a slave, but it was clear that Christine was not happy in that house. I could scarcely imagine how a person could be so different in the shadows of a building and in the daylight. But such a person was Christine. The quiet girl who cooked muffins and the girl who had joked with my prince.

I had always missed Wyatt, just as I had missed my parents and my life. An aching in my heart that varied between sharp and dull, but always painful until I learned to push the hurt and the memories away. I had accepted it, the fact that he was gone from me. Even now I still accepted it.

But he was here. Or there, in the city. He had touched me today, not knowing. How could he not have known? He had claimed to love me. Was it so senseless to believe he might have noticed something, the faintest stir of my presence? Clearly not. But then again he was a male and therefore not blessed with the sharpest wit.

I hung at the attic window, staring out into the sky that was so heavy with stars. He had told me the night before my murder that as a boy he had fallen asleep on the roof, gazing at the stars. All those constellations. Orion was out now, ready for the hunt. I breathed in the night air. It tasted similar to the air in the city's shadows. Crisp.

And with that I was gone from Christine's floor, the house now run by Melissa and her spoilt daughters. With a close of my eyes and a single wish I was back on the now-empty street where Christine had nearly been tramped by a handsome brown stallion that morning. I opened my eyes, and my heart twirled. The stars were just as bright here, and I could smell the delicious dust of the city. Somewhere a rat nibbled on something. I turned to the road, which led from what only could be the palace. The palace of the royal family of Sunelle.

Wyatt.

With a laugh I took off at a run. He was in there. I just had to find him. I made it to the gates, once more grateful for how my spirit body ignored breathlessness and pain. There I stopped, shook out my hair, and stared up to a single lit window.

It was like the Prickling, only completely different in meaning. This had knowledge. It was Wyatt's window.

I slipped through the main doors. The palace was, for the most part, asleep, the front hall with its cream marble shimmering ever so faintly in the pale gleam of the sconces. My footsteps left no sound. Part of me wished to stop, to take in the palace that should have been mine under different circumstances. But I had to find stairs. I was here for one purpose and one purpose only. Wyatt. I whispered his name to myself, aloud, probably scaring the lone servant that was awake into thinking the palace was haunted. Well, maybe it was. I quickly found the stairs and bounded up them. I felt like a child, in a good way. A little girl playing a game, hide-and-go-seek in shadowy hallways with the ghosts. I weaved my way through the halls, my heart pounding. I knew exactly where to go.

And soon enough there it was, a lit room and voices, one of them to familiar I wanted to scream.

"I guess I always just thought that this event was for me by my father as his last duty."

Wyatt. I laughed.

"My dear Wyatt, it is your coronation, and sadly behind schedule, I hope you realize."

"Hardly. My father loves his crown."

I turned, unseen, into the room. It was smaller than I had expected, and I liked it all the more for that reason. A bed lay in the corner, spread with green—green and brown seemed to be the general color scheme. There were Wyatt's books, a chess set, a washing basin, and a couple of chairs. That was where he sat now, directly across from another face that tugged on my mind until the name came forward. I smiled. Evan!

The old man had a pile of papers on his lap, reading them with overdone concern. Did he not know that Wyatt only cared about what was important? A coronation was little more than a fancy ball. I knew well enough that all the important routines were done in the presence of the council. Silly.

At least Evan smiled at Wyatt's last remark. "Indeed, I agree with you there, and may I dare say that he loves it a little too much and it might be best for you to take it while he's willing instead of tugging it out of his cold dead hands?"

Wyatt's face crinkled with a laugh, which he and Evan shared for nearly a minute. "Point taken, Evan. I just want to know why it needs to be so… so damn fancy."

"Because it gives the citizens something exciting over which to dream," Evan replied rather cynically, though with another laugh that once more got to Wyatt. "Can't you grant them that?"

"I already said I would be willing to have a ball."

"I know you, Prince Wyatt," Evan said, leaning forward. "I've known you all your life and I know perfectly well that you would rather sign a document in the broom closet whilst eating turkey and be done with it. I'm afraid to give you the bitter truth that fanfare is often necessary to keep people happy. Besides, it will be fun."

Wyatt rolled his eyes. "I know it will. When it occurs, I will have plenty of enjoyment. Because I'll go into the back and practice archery on the coaches."

"Like a child?"

"Like a child, Evan."

I crept closer. I do not know why I crept. They could not see me or hear me. But I still felt like an intruder. My mother would not be pleased. Me in the room of the man I had not yet married. Scandalous. I stood behind Wyatt. He smelled wonderful.

"Well," said Even, exchanging paper for paper and readjusting his glasses. "I will let you know that the process of switching over authority is going nicely. Even though you know do over half the work."

"They'll know me with the crown," Wyatt said. "Especially after I nearly ran over that poor young woman in the market this morning."

Evan chuckled. "I thought it funny."

"Would have been funnier if she had been a member of the court."

"You're cruel, Wyatt."

Wyatt smiled mischievously. "Thank-you."

I adored him. Had he always been so cheeky?

"Speaking of such," he continued. "On matters of the ball. I will be the new king, so the people should get to know me beyond the man that rides on occasion through the city. Invite everyone in it. Heaven knows we have enough room."

"Grand idea. I'll have Harold prepare the invitations. What about Princess Marina and her family?"

Who was Princess Marina? I watched Wyatt's face.

He paused a moment. "Yes, invite them. Though it will be a little awkward."

"The courtship is ending, then?"

Wyatt nodded. His face was unreadable.

"Good," said Evan. "I didn't like her."

Wyatt raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Really."

"You should have said something earlier."

"I thought I was pretty obvious about it. You were the one that was not thinking clearly."

Wyatt sighed and stood up from his chair. I instinctively backed away. "She's not Fawn, Evan. You don't need to compare every princess to her."

I froze. He had said my name. He had said my name and the heavens had opened once more upon me and not as a resting place between my wanderings. I wished him immediately to say it again.

Evan was at the door, papers at his chest. His old face smiled faintly. "No, Prince Wyatt. I don't need to."

Wyatt stared at him.

"And I don't. Good night, Your Highness. We really must stop doing these meetings so late at night. It's getting ridiculous." He closed the door.

"Goodnight," Wyatt called after him, loud enough to excuse for the door. Then he made his way to a closet I had not noticed and began to undress.

It was silly of me, I supposed. The love of my life had just said my name, and I was suddenly more interested in watching his body. Nine years later, and he still looked wonderful. I felt myself blushing, but I figured I deserved this much. He was good and muscular and I liked every moment of it.

Nine years, though. Nine years. As soon as Wyatt was ready for bed the number hit me like lightening. I had not dared to do the math, but there it was. Nine years since my murder. Had it really been so long, for nine years was supposed to be an awfully long time. We should have been married. We should have had several children that would be raised to marry others at ridiculously young ages. We should have been happy. I was angry I could have kicked something. But I had done something similar once and had scared the living daylights out of someone. I had no desire to do that to Wyatt.

He did not go directly to his bed. A set of doors led out to a balcony overseeing the city. It was there he went. I followed him, watching his eyes the whole while.

The city was his first focus. I could not blame him, what with this talk of the upcoming coronation. Wyatt a king! How wonderful! I had always known he would be a good king. The best. And I would be his faithful queen, also a wonderful ruler in my own right. Plus, it was just a nice view. Gorgeous.

And then he turned to the stars, stretched out over us like a quilt. There were so many. I had never realized how many there were. Tamenrook never showed enough. Drops of light sprinkling the sky like water, stopping only where the mountains blocked them.

He was right. I did like Sunelle.

His hands gripped the edges of the balcony. Without thinking, I reached over and pressed my fingers over his.

He did nothing, nothing to show he felt a thing.

Maybe I should show myself. No. I could not. It had been nine years. But I liked the way his hand felt.

Soon enough he turned to go back inside. He climbed into his bed and pulled the covers over his head.

I did not follow him. I liked this view of him well enough. And there were already tears on my eyes.


	7. Bernard

I did not leave until I was certain Wyatt was asleep. I even considered, after some time, climbing into that bed after him, though I don't know what it would have changed. And for one brief moment I considered showing myself, as I was. But I knew that was a mistake.

I do not know what time it was when I finally left the palace and made my way back to Christine's home, but the world was fast sleep and over me hung that tapestry of stars, so unlike anything I had ever seen growing up in Tamenrook. Yes, I would have been very happy in this kingdom if my life had led me that way.

It wasn't just Wyatt, you must understand. It was everything. Sure, I could see all now, touch it all, go anywhere I pleased including the Spirit World of Heaven, but I still wasn't quite a part of it. And I didn't mind it. In a way the world was still absolutely mine. But in another way, no. And I missed that. I did not want to be angel. I wanted to be a living, breathing mortal with a life ahead of her. Perhaps it was silly to wish for such a thing. I had it all. I had Heaven. I could help people. But I could have helped people as a queen.

And to think I had spent so many years as this quiet, bashful girl. By the time I had gotten around to being me, I was dead. Was that the price I had to pay for coming out of my own shell? Losing everything for which I had worked so hard? Would it have been better if I had stayed hiding in corners, eating sweets and reading books about life? Would I have remained alive if I had never met Wyatt? It was hard to say. I didn't even know why I had been killed.

I found a hill outside Christine's home, and I rested there for awhile even though rest was probably not the best term for it. But it was a moment to myself. I had a lot of those, and I still liked him. Probably that shy little girl that still lurked inside. It was incredible. Nine years. Nine years had already passed. It did not seem that way. I should be thirty by now. With children and a husband.

Oh, well. I sighed, stood up, and made my back to the Christine's home. That was the way of things. I was dead and there was no changing that. Good thing I could still be practical.

Practical doing what? I still had no idea as to how I was supposed to help Christine. She was happy stealing things, no matter how miserable her life was. Yes, this was good. Turn my thoughts to my duty, to serving people. That was why I was here. To do good. To help Christine. I liked Christine, didn't I? Yes, yes, I did. Christine was a nice girl who deserved so much more than she was getting. Justice had not been served in her case. She deserved the house and Lady Melissa could survive on her first husband's wealth. Two husbands gone. It would not surprise me in the least degree if she were poisoning them or something. No, no, that was a cruel and unfair thought.

I reached the house. It was lovely. Would I have preferred a quieter life than to that of a princess? Maybe. If I weren't a servant. But Lady of the house would be a good title. Though since my death I had become significantly less proper than in my former princess life.

A princess changed to an angel. Or a fairy godmother, as Christine had put it. Was it a good or bad change? In many ways this afterlife was much more interesting than that of a princess. It just did not include Wyatt.

Maybe I could have him killed.

No, no. I laughed and shook the thought away. What was I becoming? At least it wasn't a serious thought. At least I hoped it wasn't a serious thought. But I was grinning, more than I had at all that night, so it could not have been too terribly severe a notion.

This Princess Marina, on the other hand, was an entirely different story altogether. Good thing Wyatt had said he was no longer courting her. I did not want him marrying anyone with a silly ocean name. What was she, a mermaid? I did not want to admit that my own name was just as bad if not more so.

The halls were empty and quiet. Somewhere in the house I could hear a clock ticking. If I waited for the chimes I would know the hour, but then again I really did not care what the hour was. What was I to do till morning? Read those dusty books? Dust them? Show them some care? It seemed that Christine was the only one in the house that read.

I was about to look for a feather duster (here I was, being reduced to a servant after all) when a bit of light came floating down the staircase. I stopped where I was and watched until the figure became more palpable. My first expectation was Christine, though I don't know why she would need to get up so late or so early.

It was not Christine. It was Grace, hair in braids and a cloak about her shoulders. Grace, Melissa's eldest daughter. Why? Shouldn't she be sleeping? Or was I once more being unfair?

Either way, I was of course curious. She did not need to be up. She was supposed to be in her bed being lazy. Any normal person was supposed to be in bed. I instinctively stepped from her path and followed her with my eyes. She headed to the front door. I realized she was not in a nightgown, but a riding dress.

But her feet were bare…

The problem was quickly solved. Outside the door, she stopped, reached into the bushes and fiddled for a moment before she drew out a pair of the most worn, hideous boots I had ever seen. Then she pulled a ribbon from her sleeve and slung it around her mess of braids.

"Grace," I whispered. "Where are you going?"

She did not hear me, but as if in answer she headed toward the stables, creeping like an overgrown mouse. How loud could she possibly be?

It was romantic. I was almost embarrassed that such a thought would pop into my head. But it was. Like a story. A girl sneaking out in the middle of the night. I watched from the doorstep as she reappeared horseback. Yes, like a story indeed. Was she off to kill herself, meet a forbidden lover, or rob someone? So many other possibilities besides.

My first instinct was to follow. Maybe it was of concern to Christine. But then again, they didn't seem to associate much so why would it be so? I finally told myself that it was none of my business and that I had best leave. Go dust shelves. Heavens, was I to do something so mundane?  
"That girl's a trickster, isn't she?"

I nearly screamed. That would have been something, a scream that could have possibly burst through my unseenness to awaken the house with a mysterious noise. I was supposed to be the spirit here. I was supposed to do the scaring if I felt like it.

But no one had told the man. He had appeared from nowhere, just under a tree before the house, smiling at me. He was an older man, at least fifty, with grey-streaked hair that was pulled deftly back behind his neck with a ribbon. His face was lined, but kind, with busy eyebrows that moved with his eyes. He wore a cloak, one that covered his entire body, though I could see the glimmer of shiny boots beneath it.

Another angel. It happened on occasion that we ran into each other. It had just been some time.

"Excuse me, sir," I said. "But I did not see you there."

He chuckled warmly. That was the best way to describe it. "The apology is mine, Princess Fawn. I should have known better. I startled you. I made the mistake of assuming you had seen me. Unless you had mistaken me for one of the living."

I shook my head. "I did not even notice you until you spoke. May I ask how you knew my name?"

He shrugged and smiled, then dipped into a bow as I had not seen in a long time. "Word gets around. And I recognize you besides. From your living days. You are the Princess Fawn of the kingdom of Tamenrook."

I searched my memories for his face. "I'm sorry, I don't recall you. Were you dead before?"

"No, no, Your Highness. We never had the pleasure of meeting. I only saw you via a portrait. May I say that it did not do you justice."

I giggled in spite of myself. It had been so long since I had experienced some good flattery. "You are too kind. You do realize that my body is presently rotting in the ground down south?"

He outright laughed. "And a sense of humor to boot. I only beg of you right now not to think I'm a madman. I just like to talk to people. You do realize that this spirit body is almost as good as the other? You can do things with it, can't you?"

That was beside the point. Way to back around a joke. "You're fine, sir."

"Allow me to introduce myself." He gave another sweeping bow, his cloak twirling about him like a sail. "My name is Bernard."

Bernard. Just Bernard. No other names or title. Not that such things mattered in the Spirit World.

I curtsied. Such manners seemed so fancy. And to think I had mocked Wyatt earlier that day! And now here I was, curtsying in the starlight. "Pleasure to meet you, Bernard. Do you know Grace?"

He nodded. "Yes, I know Grace."

He had not felt the Prickling for her, had he? The question must have shown on my face, for Bernard shook his head. "I'm not helping her. She doesn't need any help. She's not the type for it. But I've watched her and I can tell you that she is a trickster. Does one thing and then another that is the opposite."

Was he not talking about Christine? I smiled. "I confess that I don't know her very well at all."

"So she's not yours, then?" He asked the question without the barest hint of surprise. It was merely a confirmation.

"No. I'm here for her stepsister. A girl named Christine."

"Christine. Ah, yes. A trickster as well."

"You know them, then."

He nodded. "I have watched them."

"Were you from around here?" It was nice to talk to someone that wasn't living, oddly enough.

He nodded again. "Sunelle, born, raised, and died. I love it here. Beautiful kingdom."

"So was Tamenrook, in its own rainy way," I said wistfully. "I don't think I could ever return there."

Bernard nodded with understanding. "You should try it sometime. It's not good to separate yourself from what you love."

"But it's not always good to be around it." I wasn't sure if I meant that for myself or for Bernard. "Thank-you for scaring me. It's good to talk to someone that doesn't think I'm a dream."

He laughed. "Christine thinks you're a dream?"

"She used to, at any rate."

"Well, people aren't used to ghosts or angels or anything of the like popping into their lives. I must be off, but I hope to see you again, Princess."

"My title no longer matters."

He smiled. "I know."

And then he disappeared.

I waited outside, thinking about what he said, until the dark hour right before dawn when Grace came riding back to the house.


	8. Friendship

Grace did not seem at all tired for having spent the night riding; rather she was as fresh as anything, her beautiful face flushed with the crisp night air. Her braids were barely loose, so all thoughts of potential gossip were crushed with that. She put the horse away and hid her boots back among the bushes. I watched her from the lawn, the only witness to whatever she had done. Whatever she did. Bernard had suggested more. But she did not look frightened, nervous, or bashful. Her face was firm and haughty. According to her face, nothing had changed but a dose of fresh country air. As casual as anything she tiptoed back into the house and up the stairs. I followed her.

Grace kept a room all to herself. It was smaller than Christine's space, but infinitely more luxurious. An ornate mirror, a fireplace, pillows and bedspreads to comfort a village. I was not a spy by nature, but I couldn't help but peak around as she hopped back into her bed for another hour of snoozing. Nothing.

Perhaps she only fancied late-night rides and I was desperate for something to do. Cursing to myself, I left the room.

Christine was already up and making breakfast, singing to herself about nothing in particular—amazing how lovely nonsense words could sound. I watched her from the doorway as she busied herself about the kitchen with a herbs and a steaming pot of oatmeal. She could cook, I had to give her that. Cooking had never been a talent of mine. I had never pursued it. It was servants' work and pointless to me. Though it did look fascinating. She looked happy as she cooked, one of the happiest moods she could possibly have in that house. It was almost the way she acted outside. She fascinated me. It was beyond me how anyone could go through the moods she did.

"Angel," Christine said with still a lilt of her song though she did not even glance at me. "Fawn. So glad to see you out and about. I missed you last night."

I smiled and stepped into the kitchen. The smell from the oatmeal was overwhelming. I would have to sample some. "As an angel I have duties that you cannot comprehend, duties that do not include you." It was a lie, but then again I could probably justify it into a semblance of the truth, truth that included Wyatt.

"So you're not just here to guard me, then." She sprinkled salt into the palm of her hand, peered at it, then tossed it into the oatmeal that she quickly began to stir.

"No."

"Mm." She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of the food. "Now this is something of which I am proud. Do angels eat food?"

"We don't need to do, but we can. And that stuff has been calling to me ever since I first smelt it. Would I be allowed a taste?"

She shrugged and winked at me. "I'm sure you would insist on your way even if I said no. Here. You can be my taster. Just be kind. I do not dare imagine the kind of food you must have experienced."

The food of the royal table and not much else of the elite. I took the spoon she offered and dug into the oatmeal. It was thick with a whirlwind of spices. "Mm." I licked the spoon generously. "Intense, but I like it."

"I like things intense. Is there anything else you think it needs?" She studied my face, expecting an honest answer. Like a heaven-sent angel would have that discernment and knowledge of cooking.

A small and senseless urge to panic did arise, but I found myself answering with a laugh. "I come here to help you and all you want is cooking advice? It's been years since…" I caught myself just in time. Christine did not need to know about my prior life of fine royal dining and the intricacies of cooking I had tasted—not that I had never much cared for them. I really did not have the tongue. "I don't know anything about food. Sorry."

Christine helped herself to the oatmeal. "What do you mean you don't know anything about food? You may not need to eat but you still must eat on occasion. All you have to know is what you like. Is there anything you think would make this stuff taste better?"

"I don't know anything about combining flavors." Back when I was alive, I had eaten whatever the cooks had set in front of me.

She rolled her eyes. "Angels. Fawn, it is very clear to me that you need to spend more time around mortals."

I smiled and took a finger-scoop of oatmeal that had dripped on the pot's outer edge. "That's all I do, Christine. And you happen to be my current mortal."

"Lucky me. Well, if you have no desire to help me make breakfast, then I shall set this to warming. Their Majesties won't be up for a short time anyway and I plan to use that to my advantage."

"Their Majesties?"

She grinned and made a show of fixing her hair, probably with much more gusto than Grace or Amelia would ever think. "My name for them. Cruel, isn't it? But I hate them so I figure they deserve it. If they want to think they are royal, I will let them and I will make fun of them behind their ugly little backs."

"You are the cruel one." But it was funny. "Actions like that won't get you into heaven."

This time the hair shake was pure Christine. "I don't care about heaven right now. If God knows me he will make up his mind and I won't argue either way. Once again, they deserve it."  
I laughed again. And it hit me. For so much of my life I had admired a few types of people. Christine fit one of those types, someone brazen and bold enough to speak her mind while I was cowering behind a book. Outgoing. Fire and light. The type of person it would have been fun to be.

"What?" she demanded. "If you think this is all funny you are not the kind of angel I would have imagined."

"And who would you have imagined?" I asked.

"Oh, I don't know." She made her way to the cupboard for bowls. "Someone who was more of a stick in the mud."

Fortunately that was a term that had never been given to me. Quite the opposite in my later years. "I guess we're a good match, then."

She froze, one hand on a bowl. Then she smiled at me. "Yes, I guess you're right. I don't mind that at all. Fawn, I know you are a very strange angel who has come to offer me your assistance, but it's been very rare lately that I get to speak my mind to someone. And since you're an angel I'm not going to care about being bashful. I never had many friends besides my father when I was a girl, and then I was saddled with Grace and Amelia as stepsisters and I think you can guess how much I despise them. If we are going to be a good match I am thrilled for it. I have decided that you are going to be my friend."

For a moment that shy little girl returned, and she wasn't used to that. "Really?"

"Uhhuh. But you will also be doing things for me. So I'm sorry to say that it may be a somewhat one-sided friendship."

"A friendship is a friendship," I replied, "And I already told you that I am here to serve you with whatever you need."

The bowls, cups, and silverware were stacked in arms like a precarious statue that she was probably going to drop if she wasn't careful. But she beamed at me over the disaster. "I appreciate that." The words were kind, but darn it all if I didn't sense a hidden motive. Apparently Christine already had a task for me. "Come help me set the table." And I was sure it was more than that.

"All right," I said. "But I'm not going to use my magic."

"Magic," she echoed. "I like that word."

I had never used it before. It had just slipped out.

"And I don't care if you don't use it," she continued as she skillfully slid bowls to their proper seats. "Just make the table look nice."

It was amazing how simple was something like setting a table.

"No one is up yet," I replied when we were through. "Though Grace barely came in." Had I been right to say that? If Christine and I were now friends a little gossip between us would be all right—if Grace had done something more interesting than take off with a horse. I could not think of anyway anyone would be hurt by this.

"Grace came in from where?" Christine was heading back into the kitchen.

"I was hoping you knew. You're around this house enough."

"Don't remind me."

I quickly explained what I had seen, and Christine listened like it was the greatest story every told. "What do you think?" I asked.

"I think she has a lover," she replied without hesitation. "Though I can't imagine what idiot would be able to put up with her. Whoever he is, he should shoot himself for doing something so stupid."

"A lover?" I supposed it was as good an answer as any.

"Why not?" She settled down and took out a book. It was different from the one she had read the other night. "It's exciting and almost romantic for her. The only thing that would be more exciting would be if Grace was a mercenary for hire and I highly doubt that."

I sat down next to her. It was fun, sitting on the floor with my knees bent in front of me. "So you've already decided her entire situation."

"After the initial novelty I really could care less. Now I don't mean to be rude but I would love to get past a few pages before they all awake."

"What are you reading?"

She showed me the cover. "_A History of Tamenrook_. My father brought it back on one of his travels. He liked the history of other countries."

I closed my eyes. I felt sick.

Christine noticed and shut the book with a thud. "Fawn? Are you all right?"

I nodded and forced my eyes open. "I'm fine. I… Memories. All sorts of memories." I was tempted to say more, but it wasn't her business. I was supposed to be here for her. I was not to weigh her down with my problems and my life.

"Have you ever visited this place? According to this the kingdom has the most atrocious weather." She looked wistful. "Which isn't a bad thing. There are times when I would kill for a good storm. There is nothing more exciting than a thunderstorm."

That was true. I remembered hiding under the windows during storms, counting the flashes that lit up the glass as I trembled in excitement. "I've been there. I get to go anywhere I want."

She gave a tiny, sad laugh and reopened her book. "I wish I had that."

"Why don't you just leave?" I asked.

"And do what? I'm cute, I'm charming, and no one was ever asked me marry me. There is only one occupation that would suit that situation and my father would rise from his grave and haunt me if I ever chose it."

I caught her meaning immediately and doubled over in a fit of giggles.

"A laughing angel," Christine said dryly. "I did not think I would ever see such a sight."

"Sorry." I fought for my composure and succeeded, for the most part. "But it's a fact that every woman, seriously or nonseriously, has at some point considered the career of a whore."

"Every interesting woman," she corrected.

"True," I admitted. "The boring ones would never."

"You are a very unlikely angel."

"Thank-you." I still was not sure how an angel was supposed to act.

She slammed the book shut once more.

I pulled it from her and flipped it open. "You are clearly not interested in reading that thing, are you?"

"No," she replied. "I have another idea. You're not the pathetic angel of so many beliefs, so I'm going to put you to work on something else."

"I can hardly wait." I skimmed the book's pages, unsure for what I was looking. It was a fairly basic history, things I had been taught all my life. It was old. My family's life was not included. No murder cases of princesses.

From the same little hiding place she had pulled out parchment, ink, and a quill. It was like a mouse's horde. I could hear her scribbling while I let more dusty memories of tutors and schooling and books wash over me. And finally her writing was done. I could hear the blowing and the dusting of the ink.

"There." She pushed the parchment a few inches from her and gazed at it in fond admiration. "My first letter in years. Isn't it lovely?"

Her handwriting was atrocious and ink was blotted everywhere, but I smiled and nodded. "Who is it for?"

A slight blush ran over her cheeks. "I feel really silly saying this, but since you are to be my guardian angel as well as my friend, but this is a letter to the prince."

I dropped the book. "Prince Wyatt."

"Of course Prince Wyatt. I don't know of any other princes. Except maybe those in that book you just dropped into the floor ick. It's as shamelessly flirtatious as any letter to a strange prince from a commoner could be."

Why had I agreed to be her friend? I stared down at the letter, silently reading its words.

_Your Majesty Prince Wyatt, _

_ Having thought it over, I would like to apologize for my clumsiness yesterday. If you're having trouble remembering, I am the girl that threw herself in front of your horse in a blatant attempt to end her life—were I suicidal. Even so, I very much appreciate your kind demeanor and assistance during this unfortunate incident. However, if you would spend less time among the people and more time playing pointless games like a true prince should, this would not have happened. So it is all your fault, I guess, and I take back my first sentence. If you would like to respond, I am a servant in the house of Lady Melissa. _

_ Your humble servant, _

_ Christine _

I had, of course, written much more flirtatious to Wyatt, but that had been nothing but me. It had been my right. I had known him before I would write such things. But this… little girl… had no power to write such a thing.

And yet… I could not help but be amused. "What in the world?"

She grinned and shrugged. "I'm feeling spontaneous. Let me have my fun."

"But why?"

Another shrug and a slight shrinking of her smile. "I felt like it."

"No one ever feels like writing something like this to a member of the royal family."

A third shrug. "It's not like he'll read it and respond, Fawn."

I sighed. "You have to be kidding me. You want me to take this to him?"

"No one will see you," she urged.

"I can pick who sees me," I said. "If I wanted it so, everyone would be able to see me."

"But no one around here knows you. You would have such fun."

This was unbelievable. My tongue was in a knot over everything I should have been saying. "Why did you write this? And please don't shrug."

"Maybe I want something exciting to happen in my life?"

Well, taking the letter would be an excuse to once again see Wyatt.


	9. Angel

I went through a variety of emotions on my way to the city. One was anger, the silent and stubborn kind that was partially toward me for obeying the whim of a scrawny little kitchen maid. Another was something more placid, perfectly all right with waltzing through the sun-stroked fields that lay between the house and the city on the way to see my former lover. Then there was the obligatory sense of insanity, a strange mix of enthusiasm and terror.

I still did not know what exactly I was doing.

But there I was, one dead girl strolling toward the city with aforementioned kitchen maid's letter tucked neatly into the pocket of my robe. I felt drunk, as if at any moment I would scream and pass out on the floor. When was the last time I had been such a coward? It was only Wyatt. My best friend.

After all those years trying to become half-way normal, I couldn't summon the courage to see him properly.

Before I knew it I had reached the city. Me, the dead angel draped in a robe. I felt like dust on the cobblestones. It was like being thirteen years old all over again. My head was down, eyes focused on the dust and the shadows that whirled with passing people. I was visible and I did not care. Not a good mix for travel. A shoulder grazed mine, followed by a murmured "'Scuse me, miss."

"You're fine," I replied in a voice just as soft. Then I stopped and took a deep breath. I was clearly on my way to the palace and I had to make a decision, fast, about what I was going to do. Around me the city swirled with its citizens as they went on whatever they happened to do during the day. Idiots. Did they not have anything more important to do than shop and chat and yell at each other? Ugh, I could not be thinking like that! I bit my lip and pressed my back up against the wall to stare at them. They were all so good at being mortal, why could they not give me advice? But though I could be seen on one watched me and I think I preferred it as such. I had spent nine years mingling with commoners and loving it, for the most part. But today was different. Today I did not want anything to do with them. Goodness, what had happened to my delight in a sunny day?

I pulled Christine's letter from my pocket and read it once more. The letter was disgustingly flirtatious for a girl who had only met the man once. Just what was going through that head of hers? I choked back the smile that crept over my face, apparently thinking this was nothing more than an extract out of a bad romance. I even considered the notion of crumpling the damned thing. My fingers pressed tightly over the paper, which gave a faint crinkle.

No. No crumpled paper, no spite for nine years gone. That was emotion reserved for more important matters that wouldn't offend the jokes of Christine. I closed my eyes and let my fingers trail back from the letter before it returned unharmed to my pocket.

"Christine," I muttered, "What are you trying to do to me?"

Nothing, of course. How was she to know? I opened my eyes and found the outline of the distant palace. Not-so-distant palace. I had been there. All I had to do was slip unseen into his room and leave it lying on the table, for the bed would hopefully be more than to Christine's liking—I suspected the girl made up half of her flirtations out of girlish thoughts, poor thing, not that I had been so different before finding Wyatt. I did not even have to go that far. The letter could be slipped into the pouch of a messenger, or any servant for that matter, quite easily. But where was the fun then?

What was wrong with me? I had to be more creative than that. This was my chance. This was Wyatt. My unfinished business.

Across the way was a woman, a pretty woman involved in the business of jewelry making. I honestly would not be surprised if she turned out to be some sort of witch or gypsy, according to her dress. Well, nothing that I couldn't handle. Her cart was laid out with her beaded wares, along with a smooth, round mirror. I strode up the stand, once more the confident angel that could mess with the lives of the living as I pleased. "Good day," I said.

"Good day," she returned brightly before setting to show me the jewelry. "The purple suits you best, miss."

"You think so?" I asked as innocently as a curious shopper could.

"Indeed. Here, let me show you. Give me your neck."

I thought the request would be better suited spilling from the mouth of a vampire, but oh well. I dutifully leaned forward as she snapped the beads around my neck. And no bite was given. "See? Look at yourself in the mirror. They're lovely on you."

And yes, the vain and earthy part of me liked them very much. I decided to drum up some coins to buy them as the reflection in the mirror changed.

The woman frowned as I handed her the coins.

"Is something wrong?" I asked. My voice was different, too. Slightly lighter, with the accent of Sunelle.

The frown vanished with a confused smile as the shook her head. "No, nothing is wrong. Thank-you for your purchase and may God smile upon you today."

I fingered my new beads as I stepped away, my straight wave of dark brown hair bouncing off my shoulders. I felt it rather clashed with the bright blue of my eyes, but I wasn't too particular when it came to changing my appearance.

Besides, my heart was fluttering too much for many vain thoughts.

I strode through the rest of the town, now with all the confidence for which I could wish rushing through me, knowing that with the smallest trip it would all be gone. But it was a game, this was, a clever game of masquerade through which Wyatt would never see. I passed unseen through shadows of the alley, letting my cloak change to the slightly tattered garb of a simple messenger girl. No one saw me even as I let me shine through. I was a stranger to Sunelle, but obviously someone who had ever right to be there. I worked for Lady Melissa, widow of the royal family's favorite historian, and I had to deliver an important message to Prince Wyatt, soon to be crowned King of Sunelle, himself. I wanted to laugh and cry and skip and run in terror all at once. It was an even odder assortment of emotions than before.

I reached the front gate, where stood soldiers. I would have no trouble with them.

"Good day, sirs!" I gave the somewhat curtsy that a common messenger girl would give when trying to act above her station in order to impress people as important as palace guards. "I come baring a message from the Lady Melissa."

The guards exchanged looks, and I was glad to see they were not ones of doubt or suspicion. "Ah, the Lady Melissa? I have not heard from her since the death of her second husband. The poor woman." The speaker, a young red-haired thing who I found rather handsome nodded to me. "Miss, for who is the message?"

"Prince Wyatt," I said. "It is most urgent." It was not necessary to throw into the urgency clause, but it did make it easier on them to think that they weren't doing my bidding.

The older man stroked his scruffy chin. "I am not sure just where Prince Wyatt is right now. Would you like one of us to pass the message on?"

I humbly lowered my eyes. "Please, sirs, my mistress told me I must see with my own eyes that it is delivered to the His Majesty."

The men smiled at each other, and the red-head opened the gate. "Someone at the palace will help you find the Prince."

I curtsied once more and darted through. I felt like a child, not an adult! But it was a rather fun game.

I had not been able to properly see the grounds the night before. Wyatt had described them once to me, a thoroughly unorganized piece of glorious chaos of plants, only cut back to allow a path. There would not be much room for us to have thrown each other down, I thought with a grin. I stopped a moment to take the plants in, their sight, their smell, their descriptions as Wyatt had given.

"May I help you, miss?"

My first instinct was to vanish. But that would have been stupid considering my entire mission. I could not falter, I turned around with the proper surprise of a girl who had just been startled. "Forgive me!" I gasped.

Evan smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

I let my eyes fall to the ground "I'm here on a delivery. I should not have stopped."

"No need to apologize." He gestured around the grounds. "I admit they are somewhat overwhelming."

"But lovely!" I put in. "I've heard so many stories about them, I'm just happy to be finally seeing them in person!"

Evan was silent a moment. "I'm glad you like them. The King always hated the idea that they would ever be cut back."

I studied his old face. So proper and yet so kind. Hadn't I always liked him? "People always talk about these gardens. But we can't loiter about. You strike me as a delivery girl? Am I right? I don't know if anyone could want you stopping to admire flowers and talk with an old codger like me."

I nodded and blushed. "I work in the house of Lady Melissa—"

"That old bat!" Evan said without remorse. "I pity you! Never liked her or any of her brood. Think much too highly of themselves, if you ask me. Thankfully she has ignored us for years until now. But listen to me! You have a message. Who is it for?"

I pulled out the letter. Prince Wyatt's name was scrawled across. "His Majesty Prince Wyatt, sir." It was good to listen to the sound of Evan's voice. "Do you know where he might be? My instructions are that I deliver this letter right into his hand?"

"Would you prefer I take it to him myself and save you the time and a harsh word from your mistress?" Evan asked. "I can even put a coin your way. Lord knows you would need it."

Just how horrid was Lady Melissa? But I did not need any gold. I shook my head and said with a smile "No money is worth her finding out I did not obey her instructions exactly."

Evan threw back his head and laughed. "I will not argue you there. I will take you right to him. What is your name, girl?"

Fawn, of course, was the first thing to pop into my head. I said the second thing, which was only slightly less stupid. "Angel." Good grief, if only Minister Evan knew the truth! But it had worked a while for Christine. "My name is Angel."

"And you are one for putting up with Lady Melissa," Evan replied. "Right this way. He's in the library, I believe."

How like him.

Evan led me through the palace. For some reason it did not interest me as much as the grounds had. Even so I could not help but be amazed by the fact that this is where my dear Wyatt had grown up. I imagined a smaller him playing here. I imagined the two of us chasing the children we never had.

"Angel?" Evan asked. "Are you all right?"

A tear had escaped my eye. I wiped it away and beamed at him. "I think something outside had bothered my nose."

"Just don't die. Here we are, the library." He pushed open half a set of reddish doors into what could only be described as the most proper library I had ever seen. Small, but books covering every inch of space. The younger me could have survived here for years. And there at a table against one wall was him. My Wyatt, as handsome as ever. The years had done him well. I had not entirely realized that yesterday.

"A message for you, Wyatt," Evan announced.

Wyatt looked up from the table. I wished I could see what he had been reading. He smiled at me and it was all I could do to stay up right. This wasn't correct. I should be leaping into his arms for a passionate kiss, ready for him to carry me into the cover of bookshelf shadows. He was so divine! And he not shaved that day, either. But all I did was stand there, somewhat afraid, a mere messenger girl in the big, bad palace, facing the soon-to-be-king. I curtsied and I did not even need to fake it clumsy. He approached me, still smiling, and I managed to take out the letter.

His smile was too innocent. He did not see me, he only saw Angel the messenger. "Who sends the message?"

I glanced at Evan with more of a glare than I meant. His old face went stubborn and I knew right away he was not going to leave, especially since I had gone above my station. "It's from the house of Lady Melissa, Your Highness."

His face clouded with bewilderment, but he took the letter and opened it. I watched his face as he read. More bewilderment, a look of knowing, a smile, and last of all a laugh.

I just stood waiting as a good messenger should.

"A servant delivering for a servant!" It was a joke to him. "Well, it was certainly a better letter than anyone in that family could write. Are you and Christine friends?"

I nodded. "Yes, Your Highness."

"And you managed to sneak a letter all the way to me from her." His eyes scanned the letter once more.

"Are you going to reply?"

Wyatt smiled. "Yes, I believe I will. If just to spite Lady Melissa."

Evan sighed. "Wyatt, if you don't mind me leaving I have more important matters to which to attend."

Wyatt shooed him off with a wave of his hand as he walked back to his table. "Tell me your name. I hate to think of you as nothing but the messenger."

For one moment I wondered what he would do if I said my true name. Probably shake it off as one of those names that people share. I had already told Evan one name, and I had to keep these things straight. "My name is Angel."

"Angel," he repeated. He paused, now seated, and studied my face. It did not make me nervous; rather, I relished it. "It suits you. For some reason, it suits you very much."

He had no idea. He had no idea how true and how silly and eye-rolling a name it was. But it was already out in the air and it was now my name.

"Well, Angel," he continued, "If you would like to take a seat, I will write up a reply for your friend Christine. She certainly has a lot of spunk to right such a thing to me."

I knew very well that he enjoyed every word of it. It was something he had always liked to drive him out of his more quiet moments. "Yes, Your Highness, she does. I suppose I'm just as crazy for delivering it."

"Please, call me Prince Wyatt. I'm not fond of titles."

"But isn't it true that you are about to take on the title of King?"

"Soon." He did not look up as he wrote. "Very soon. There's to be a ball and everything. All sorts of grand things."

"Well, Prince Wyatt, the people do like these sorts of things."

He rolled his eyes and stabbed his pen at the paper. "As well does the palace. But oh well. It is my job to please."

"I think you'll be a great king," I said truthfully. I was not normally so chatty. But it was so comfortable to be around him. All that had changed was me. Even so I could say whatever I wished. "But, and please excuse my impudence, I believe you should have a queen." It was cruel, but I craved to see his reaction.

His face only changed slightly, a sad drop of his mouth. But even so my heart broke. "Yes, Angel, you're probably right. And hopefully that will happen. Most men of my station would have been married years ago. Now I'm just old."

He didn't look that old to me. This was the age he was supposed to be. "You're still very handsome!" Oh, dear. A messenger girl would not have said such a thing without blushing, and fortunately my face exploded with red.

Wyatt looked at me and laughed. "Thank-you!"

I made sure my eyes were properly aimed down.

"I was supposed to have been married nearly ten years ago," he continued. The letter was finished and he was now in the process of sealing it. "She was the princess of a southern kingdom. Her name was Fawn."

It was almost sick to ask questions, but again I was too comfortable to keep from doing so. It was like one-sided flirtation, only I could show nothing. "Were you fond of her?"

"I was madly in love with her."

Good boy. And I was madly in love with him.

"We were soul mates, she and I."

"What happened, then?" Not that I didn't know first-hand. But it seemed that Wyatt wanted to talk about it. He was spilling these things out so freely.

"She was murdered." His body did not move.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness. I did not mean—"  
"No, no. You are fine. I always want someone to listen." He managed a smile. "We couldn't find her. It took hours. I just thought she was busy with someone. We were preparing for a ball. A guard found her—I am forever in his debt, strange as it may sound. I don't think I could have dealt with finding her body myself. We found the bastard, pardon my language. His name was Gavin Gray and no one knows why he killed my Fawn."

"I am so sorry," I said softly. "I… I had heard stories, but I…"

He waved away my words. The letter to Christine was finished and now lay ignored on the tabletop. "It is perfectly all right, Angel. I've spent years trying to find out why and I will find out."

"Any clues?"

"You're not a spy, are you?" He meant it as a joke. "Gavin Grey was common scum, but he lived well as a mercenary all over the continent. He's been hired before." He gave a smile strange for the conversation. "I've never spoken so much to anyone, Angel. Thank-you for listening."

I returned the smile. It was more fun than I had thought, disguising myself. It made it more a game and less heartbreak.

"I have a list I've made," Wyatt said as he rose from his chair to rummage through stacks of paper. "Names. The King and Queen of Tamenrook also have a copy of the list. People who have hired Gavin Grey before. I'm not sure where I put it now."

Well, I wanted to see it myself! Too bad I couldn't demand it.

He sighed and grabbed the letter. "I'm stalling you. I'm sorry. Here, take this back to Christine and tell her not to attach so much grief to an accident." He slipped the letter into my hand. I shivered where he touched my skin. "Once more, thank-you for listening to me."

I met his eyes. "I was glad to."

And then, just like that, I left the library wondering if he thought me the flirtatious one.


	10. Hatred

I remained in the form of "Angel" all the way to the gates

I remained in the form of "Angel" all the way to the gates. If anyone saw me and wondered about the frumpish servant girl carrying herself from the presence of Prince Wyatt I did not notice them. I felt sick, dizzy, and wonderfully elated, all at the same time. If Wyatt demanded that I be Angel, I would be. I would be anything he asked of me as long as he would speak to me and look at me. His letter to Christine was weightless in my hand. It was not until the gates that I remembered it. And then it seemed the every thought of and feeling for Wyatt vanished as I stared at his awkward handwriting covering the envelope.

No one was there to see me, and instantly the guise of Angel fell away till I was Fawn again in my dark robe holding a letter. I was not sure what to make of it, though one little thought did demand to know why Wyatt was writing to Christine. Because she had written to him and it was only courtesy to reply, of course. I examined the lettering more carefully. Just an address to Christine, nothing more, nothing less. Was there to be meaning there?

Christine. She was the one over whom I was supposed to be watching. I really needed to get back to her in spite of the fact she had sent me here. I nodded to no one and slipped the letter into my robe pocket. I would deliver this to Christine just as I promised Wyatt and I would not read it. Why would I need to read it?

As quickly as they had gone thoughts of Wyatt returned and a smile crept over my face. Christine could wait. I was in Sunelle, Wyatt's home. I should get to know it. What of all the mountains and streams he had promised me? Where were they? Where might I find them? And of course the Prickling returned to remind me of my gracious angelic duty. I was tempted to pout like a child. I did not care about Christine, and the letter to her weighed heavily in my pocket. It would be wrong to read it.

I shook every other thought away save that of my duty to Christine. If I loved Wyatt, I would deliver his letter. I had wasted too much time debating with myself like a little girl. Well, with any luck Christine would find some sick reason to continue this odd correspondence.

Before I set off I allowed myself one last look at Wyatt's palace. The gates stood behind me, tall yet welcoming, the gardens stretched out beyond them. Around a corner of green bushes came Minister Evan, talking with someone or another. His eyes glided over me. Oh dear! Immediately I vanished, once again feeling sick. Evan had been quite a distance off, but he stopped for the briefest of moments, eyes frozen on the spot where I was. I did not dare move, though I knew he could not see me? Had he seen me?

My thoughts were too quick for the moment and in a blink of an eye Evan had resumed his conversation. I let out the breath I had been holding, though I truly did not need the pain of breathing, and ran in the direction of Lady Melissa's home. I could wish myself there, but this was easier. Running still did something for this spirit body, and maybe if I ran fast enough Evan would not have seen me.

By the time I reached the house I was calm and logical. Evan, in his old age, was no doubt prone to flights of fancy and strange sights. Of course his eyes were playing tricks on him, as he had only recently discussed the subject of me and thus had me on his mind. The incident was laughable and I liked to think I had played a good joke upon poor Evan. My mood was restored and I was not going to be silly about giving Christine her letter. I was here to help her and this just might be what she needed. Either way, she saw me as her friend and this is what she had asked of a friend. I could be a good friend.

My first impression upon entering the house was that no one was there. A few candles lit dim corners, though I personally thought them useless for the noon hour. A lunch had been laid upon the table, but no one sat there. I began to imagine some

horrible incident when the sounds of shouting floated down the staircase. The sweet melody of Lady Melissa. I ran up the steps. That floor was like a maze that hid the argument from me until I stumbled upon a room that appeared entirely useless. Why have a random sitting room in the middle of the house?

Lady Melissa sat in a rickety, velvet-colored chair, burgundy skirts flowing around her like a waterfall. Her golden hair was pinned up in a graceful tower, but her face was as red as her dress. Christine stood before her, meek as a mouse, eyes focused on the floor. In the shadowy corner I could see the forms of Amelia and Grace, standing as cold as statues as Lady Melissa continued to scream.

"Gone!" she shouted. "Gone! They were valuable!"

Since the screaming had been going on since I had entered the house I was sure that Christine was very well aware of the cost of whatever this was about. I stood in the doorway, trying to decide when to intervene or even if.

"Your father worked for years on those books. Years! Can you not comprehend the importance of such things with your tiny mind? Or perhaps you are nothing more than an ungrateful daughter who uses her dearly departed father's work as the means for trinkets or selfish gifts! The meaning of them to our kingdom! Did you not care about that? Or that they belonged to this house, my home. Your sisters' home!"

I noticed she had left out Christine's home. Tears were already running down her face.

Lady Melissa paused for breath, rendering her next words barely above malignant whispers. "Your father's home. The place to which she owe your life!"

"I understand," Christine muttered.

"Do you continue to lie and protest you took them?" Lady Melissa's voice was rising again.

"I had nothing to do with them," Christine replied softly. She still did not meet her stepmother's eyes.

"Liar!" the screaming was back, and even Amelia jumped. "How dare you tell such lies to me, you ungrateful little bitch! I loved your father and you would dare to take his greatest works from me."

But he was Christine's father. Had he not left these books to her? I waited for Christine to defend herself, but only a few tears appeared.

"What did you do with them?!"

Silence. Horrible, heavy silence.

"What has become of my books?" Lady Melissa was like a hawk screaming down its prey. She rose from her chair in one fluid movement, eyes burning.

I hated her. If I had disliked her before, I hated her now. It took everything in my power to keep myself back.

Christine murmured something under her breath.

"What did you say?" Lady Melissa demanded.

"I tore them up," Christine repeated, audible.

Lady Melissa's face went white. "What?"

"I tore them up." Tears were pouring down Christine's cheeks now, and while her voice was still hardly over a whisper she might as well have been screaming herself. "I tore them up and crumpled them up and threw them into the fire until they became nothing but ashes! And those that I did not destroy I gave away. Every time I went on a trip for you I brought a book or two to give away, or a piece of jewelry or silverware. It was only now you were clever enough to catch on!"

In one step Lady Melissa was in front of her, arm and hand whirling through the air before colliding with Christine's face with a sound that hurt my ears. I flinched, but noticed that Amelia and Grace did so as well. Lady Melissa struck again, and again. Christine sunk to the floor, absolutely silent, hands over her face. Lady Melissa stepped back, a vein in her forehead throbbing.

"That will touch you to touch my things," she said.

But they were not her things! I had only been there a few days and I knew as much. Fury flooded through me as I stepped into the room. Melissa's chair (for I could no longer bear to think of her as a Lady) skidded from behind her to before her, where I had it hit her firmly in the chins. She cried out as she fell back with a superb bang against the wall. Grace gave a small scream while Amelia covered her mouth with her hands.

I was not good at being angry. What was I supposed to do next? I grabbed the air between by hands and pretended to shred it. As I did my imagined sound came to life via Melissa's skirt. Long and ragged, all the way to her hip. It seemed as if her foot had merely caught by misfortune on the skirt, but it was me.

Christine took the opportunity to pick herself up and flee the room. Why would she? I was not done. All I had was pitiful! I suddenly wanted to rake out her eyes with my fingernails. I closed my eyes, forced my hands to my side, and dashed after Christine.

Her footsteps echoed liked thunder throughout the house—the stairs to the attic were old and worn. A door slammed, but I was already on my way. I slid through the door without opening it and found Christine on her rat's next of a bed, sobbing.

My heart broke for her, and I appeared. "Christine?"

I expected her to ignore me, but her head shot up, red eyes staring at me. "Oh," she said softly. "You."

I nodded and sat down next to her on the bed. "I heard it."

"You threw the chair at her legs, didn't you?" She gave the faintest of laughs and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "I hate her so much. I hate them all. They are all just… just insane. I mean, that she would even… that she would even care about them in the first place…" She choked back something and tried again. "Is it selfish of me, Fawn? Is it so horribly selfish that I would not her or any of them looking at my father's things? That I think they aren't good enough to read anything he ever wrote?"

Probably so, but all I could do at that moment was empathize. So I said no.

She pushed herself up and took a deep breath. "I didn't do anything I said. I would never treat Papa's books so horribly. He was brilliant and even if I did want to give some of things away I knew it wouldn't be practical because there aren't many copies."

"Why did you say you did?" I sat down next to her, having the strangest urge to give her a big hug.

She gave another weak laugh. "Most to make her mad. Is that a horrible reason?"

I smiled. "Probably."

She smiled back, though the tears kept coming. "I know, I know you're right. But I just… I just hate her so much. If you had any idea, Fawn."

"I saw her hit you." I reached forward and pushed the hair from Christine's face. The skin had already puckered up into a strong welt.

"She doesn't always hit me."

She did not always hit her. Well, of course she didn't! If she had Christine would be nothing but a walking pile of bruises. I wanted to say something spirited and powerful and inspiring but I had to no idea what that would be. And she sat next to me sniffling, before picking up one of her books, a dusty old copy half shoved under the blankets.

Part of me was furious at her for doing so while the other part of me understood. So I continued to sit while she read. As I was already terrible at keeping track of the flow of time I did not know how long she read and I sat. And as I sat I felt angry, angry, for reasons I could not quite explain, at Melissa. I was angry at her for yelling at Christine. I was angry at her for hitting Christine. I was angry at her for taking over the house and all the things and treating Christine the way she did!

It was not like I had never felt anger before. Anger, rage, hatred, I had known it all, more so during this phase of my existence. Wandering brought so much. I saw things in this world I had never dared hope of seeing and I had seen other things that would bring tears to the eyes of any decent person. There were people I wished to see dead even though I knew such a wish was wrong. Why did I feel so much more anger on behalf of Christine? It was not like I had known her so long.

But anger is what I felt and Christine, sitting there, with her book, was not helping. I was about to lose all of my supposedly angelic patience and take my turn at yelling her when she set the book down and pulled, seemingly from no where, a hideously bent quill and an almost-empty pot of ink.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

She opened the ink pot and dunked the quill into it. "I keep a journal," she said. "Papa taught me to do so. He says it is the most important part of contributing to history. He kept one and my mother kept one. And now I keep one. I have written it in since Mama's death. Not nearly as often when I should, but… well, I like to read in it. It's so funny to look back at what I have written ages ago and make fun of myself for being that way."

"Make fun of yourself?"

She shrugged. "Call me crazy, but it works for me. You angels see all of eternity and probably remember ever single and solitary second of it. Well, we poor humans don't. So I do this instead."

It was a rude thought, but I had to wonder what she wrote about.

She continued as if she had anticipated my unsaid question. "It's really a horrible journal. Absolutely terrible." A sly smile, much stronger than her others, made me suspect the very worse. "I spy on them." I did not have to ask who they were. "I spy on them, discover their dirtiest secrets, and write them all in here for the prudent knowledge of posterity."

I found myself laughing. "You are an absolutely awful person, Christine!"

"I know." She was already scribbling furiously across the page. "Today, I am writing about Melissa's obvious insanity and Amelia's secret fear of rabbits."

"Rabbits?"

"Yes. While you were gone one came into the yard while she was sewing. Embroidering, excuse me. She's too fine for mean sewing. She screamed bloody murder."

"I'm sorry I missed it. No dirt on Grace?"

"Not today, but she has had her fair share." As she wrote, Christine's face lit up little by little until she was positively beaming. "Would you like me to read anything to you?"

"I…" I really did not know if that would be appropriate. But she took my hesitation for a yes and started it into it with an extract from several pages back.

"April 29: Melissa gave the roaches a lesson on propriety. Apparently I will never have that kind of problem for I was ignored. It was all about how to behave in front of a gentleman. However, last night, Grace stayed out extremely late with that cobbler's apprentice. I say, if the shoe fits…"

Oh, dear. I choked back a laugh. I had never felt so indulgent. Hardly becoming of an angel. "Christine, I can't listen to this."

"Ah, yes. The pure ears of an angel."

"I'm not an angel of vengeance."

"You should be. I think that sounds like fun." She finished the dirt for the day and closed her book. "I know I'm awful, but this helps me. It makes me feel better."

"Why can't you leave?"

"I told you. Where am I supposed to go?"

I shook my head. She was exasperating. "Anywhere! You're smart, Christine! Lovely, funny. I've watched you. People like you. People outside this house, anyway."

Her smile faded and she shrugged. "I can't leave this house. This is my home, no matter what the law says. I will not leave my parent's house!"

My perspective had changed somewhat since my death. "Christine," I said kindly. "It is just a house. It means nothing. I know you loved your parents, but they aren't here anymore."

She clenched her teeth. "They aren't anywhere else I can see them. This house is all I have left. And Papa's books." She sighed. "She's probably hiding them so she can blame me. Even if they're gone, it's better than her having them."

She had a good argument, I could not deny that. And every counter-argument I had ever used during my career as an angel was useless.

I had forgotten Wyatt's letter. I quickly pulled it from my robe. "I have something to cheer you up."

"You're going to kill Melissa?"

"You sent me to deliver a letter to… the Prince. He wrote back."

Christine's eyes went wide as she grabbed the letter and tore it open. "You saw him? You spoke to him?"

"You spoke to him yourself."

"Yes, but you. I mean, Fawn, you're…"

"I can appear to whomever I choose." I did like sounding powerful.

She did not respond. Her eyes poured over the letter, drinking in the words. What had he written? I would gladly kill Melissa, had I the power, to see it. It was my like my heart would die all over again. But of course the letter was not to me.

Christine finished the letter and it fell into her lap. Her eyes were sparkling.

I felt cold.

"You will think I am silly for saying this," she said. "But Angel is a terrible name to call yourself."

"He didn't know what I was." He had mentioned me?! Or, Angel?!

"I suppose you're right. Either way, he mentioned you."

I know he mentioned me. The earlier chill melted away. Did I dare ask her what he had said? Was it my business? Of course it was, if it were about me! "What did he say?"

She cleared her throat before speaking. "'You have a good friend in Angel. She is someone to whom I can speak.'"

I did not exactly feel disappointed, but his way with words had certainly gone downhill during the past nine years.

"What?" Christine asked, noticing my expression which must have been horrifically gloomy. "I think that is a great compliment. I wish I was someone he could talk to."

"But he wrote you a letter. Just to you."

"Just a nasty reply. I think he has a sense of humor, but it is hard to tell. Some people simply cannot write." She folded the letter slowly. "Still… Fawn, can I talk to you?" Her entire demeanor had changed. She was begging me to listen, terrified I would not.

I nodded, surprised. "Of course. That's why I'm here."

"I don't know why I'm doing this," she began. "Writing to him. It makes no sense. It's stupid, and it is completely above my station to even presume I would be allowed to carry out this silly game. But…"

The words were hard to get out. "I understand." Of course I understood. Who could understand better than I? I wanted to shout it to Christine, make her understand. But that was not why I was here. "He's a great man, the Prince."

"Maybe he's the reason I don't want to leave." She took a deep breath and shook her head. "Maybe the hope of catching a glimpse of him is the reason I don't leave. And I know it's a stupid wish. I am not an idiot. But I can't help it. It is the one thing I have most days."

"It's not stupid." That was all I could say and I did not even know what it meant.

That was it for our talk, for, in a rage or not, Melissa then summoned Christine.

And the following morning, an announcement arrived from the palace.


	11. Rain

"You really don't need to help me with the dishes. I am perfectly capable of doing them on my own. I've been doing them for years." Christine gently pulled a plate from my hands and set her own drying towel to it.

I smiled and crossed my arms over my chest, hoping to show off as a little more indignant than I felt. "I thought you wanted my help. I thought that was why I was here. To do your bidding."

She shrugged and tossed the blonde hair behind her shoulders. She looked incredibly beautiful when it was down. Maybe it was just the acclimating of being around her, but she seemed less and less like a skinny little girl. I still could not see why she would even think about fancying herself in the arms of Wyatt. "If you are to be my guardian angel or my fairy godmother or whatever I am to call you I think I had better find better roles for you than doing my pitiful series of jobs."

That was certainly a relief. I had not done much in the way of housework when I was alive. "And what would that be?"

Another shrug. "Fawn, someday I will discover just what I want from you and then I shall let you know."

"You are then saying that you simply wish for me to hang around you?"

She winked at me. "What else is a fairy godmother good for?" She set the plates in the cupboard and grabbed the broom. A good sweep and a mop was the next thing the kitchen needed. "At least I have made myself to be an excellent housekeeper."

I sighed. Despite her request I felt like an idiot standing their in the kitchen while my Pricking girl swept up invisible dust for people who hated her. I wondered why exactly I was supposed to be there. Of course I saw why. I saw the situation that Christine was in. I hated everything that was happening to her. I hated and yet loved the fact that I was so close to my beloved Wyatt. And because of all of this I had to wonder why in heaven's name I was here? What was supposed to happen now? It was not my duty to destroy Melissa and her daughters. That was no one's right.

"You want to see the Prince today, don't you?" I don't know if I were speaking to Christine or myself.

She did not even pause in her sweeping. She turned her head toward me, eyes sparkling with mischief. I could not keep up with her multiple moods and personalities. "Of course I want to see the Prince, silly! I would like nothing more than for His Majesty to ride through this door, on his horse because he will not take the time to get off of it to rescue me. Anyway, he would pull me onto his horse and we would ride away, far away from Sunelle and everyone here. I don't know where we would go, but we would be gone."

"There is a country called Tamenrook in the south," I said. Not that Wyatt would want to go there. Not with my memory probably still haunting it. "It's very rainy."

"I've heard of it," replied Christine. "Rain and plants and mists… I think it sounds very romantic. I'm sure you've been there. I'm sure angels go everywhere."

I nodded. "I have spent years and years there."

"Maybe we should go there. Or somewhere else. I don't care." She pulled out a dustpan, swept up the miniscule mess, and tossed it out the window. "But not right now. I need to start lunch soon."

"Would you like me to do something to the food?" I asked. Every time I thought of Melissa I wanted to scream.

"Are you allowed to?"

"No, actually. I am not an avenging angel."

Her smile was sad. I had not expected that. I had thought we were joking. "Then I shall start lunch."

And that was the moment when a knock came at the door.

Christine swore under her breath and chucked the broom against the wall. "Something else to prevent my chores."

I followed her to the door. There stood a finely dressed courier holding a decorated envelope.

"To the ladies of the house," he announced with a gentle smile. "Or any other woman in the household."

I decided I liked him.

Christine took the envelope and gave a clumsy curtsey in return. "I shall give it to my mistress," she said. "May I ask what it is?"

The courier seemed to expect this. "On the 17th of this month there shall be a ball at the palace to officiate and celebrate the coronation of Prince Wyatt, to be crowned King Wyatt of the Kingdom of Sunelle. Everyone is called to attendance."

The 17th was scarcely a week away.

"Everyone?" Christine echoed.

The courier nodded. "Everyone. It is a celebration of the citizens and all that can make it are invited to attend."

Christine curtsied again. "Thank-you."

"The pleasure is mine," he replied with a deep and sweeping bow. "I bid you good day."

Christine shut the door and stared at the envelope. "Fawn, it's a ball. I've never been to a ball."

I had never cared for balls, as much as I had looked forward to the engagement ball. "Yes, it is a ball. And with the way Melissa treats you it's no wonder you haven't been to one."

She nodded, then shook her head. "It is not just that. It's… the royal family doesn't give many balls. At least not in my memory. The Prince was engaged to a princess of another kingdom. When she was killed, I guess… well, as an angel I imagine that you would understand how people can be."

I nodded. I had seen plenty of people during my wanderings. "Yes, the heart breaks. That is what hearts tend to do. Prince Wyatt lost the love of his life, I imagine."

"I feel so sorry for him. I can't imagine what it was like. I was only a little girl at the time. But it was so long ago. This is good that he is having a ball, isn't it? It shows something." She smiled and shook her head again. "But it's for the coronation, so he must be expected to throw a ball. Even so, it must be healthy for him. I don't think it's good or right for people to continue to be sad forever. Mourning must stop someday. And… and I'm not saying this because of what I said yesterday. The Prince is a good man. He can't serve his country in a state of heartbreak! He should be happy."

"I'm sure his princess wanted him to be happy." With all my heart.

"Glad to see you agree." She held the envelope as if it would break. "I want to go to the ball."

My breath caught in my throat. Of course I did not need breath, not the way Christine or anyone else did. But the feeling was the same, the same icy wind that took over my heart. I had not attended my own ball. Why was another one returning? I closed my eyes for a moment.

I did not understand. With all I knew, with all I had seen of heaven and this world, I did not understand.

"Fawn?" Christine asked. "Are you all right?"

I nodded and opened my eyes. "I'm fine."

She held up the invitation. "So, then. What would you have me to do with this?"

"You said you wished to go to the ball."

But then I noticed her smile. "Fawn, Melissa or the roaches know nothing of this invitation."

"Christine, you are a terrible girl!" As I smiled in clear wickedness.

She laughed, shook her hair out, and crammed it into the pocket of her apron. "I'm out of here."

My eyes widened. "What did you say?"

"You heard me." She opened the door—the front door she probably was not supposed to use—and darted outside, blonde hair streaming behind her like a willow tree in the fall. "They aren't home anyway! You told me I need to get out of this house."

"But you're barefoot!" I called after her.

"Protect me, then, Fairy Godmother!" She was already out of the front gate. It was not even a sunny morning. Thick clouds blocked the sunlight and threatened rain, maybe even a storm. But Christine was gone, running across the road and then the field like some wild thing. I remembered thinking her a ghost that first night and maybe I was right.

"Christine!" I called again. I finally started my own run. The air was chill—I could sense as much—but oddly refreshing. I heard a pound of thunder. If lightening came she certainly would need protection. So I ran.

I did not feel myself running, not at first. I had never been one for the field of athletics, so it was a good thing that my spirit body did not tire as a mortal's would. My mind was on Christine. She seemed thrilled. She was almost toward the hills, the lightly wooded bumps that built up to the mountains Wyatt of which Wyatt had spoken so fondly. The trees were small and sparse, but Christine disappeared into them then reappeared. Like firelight.

She finally stopped halfway up a steep hill. There I caught up with her. Drops of water were already sprinkling from the sky. She had collapsed on the grass, her chest heaving for breath. But her face was bright.

"Christine!" I scolded. "What has gotten into you?"

She held up a finger demanding patience for a few moments then, with a last noisy gasp, she pulled out the invitation to the ball. "What has gotten into me? I'm going to destroy this before Melissa or Amelia or Grace find out anything about it. They will not go to the ball. I will."

I sat down next to her. The thick grass was already wet, along with all the weeds and other plants scattered among them. Many of them I did not recognize from Tamenrook. They smelled wonderful. The leaves above us were as a canopy. I heard the rain drops, growing each time, striking the leaves which gave way under the weight. The rain drops felt good. I missed rain. It was not rain like in Tamenrook, that was a given.

"There's a brook up here," Christine said. "I shall drown this invitation."

"You could simply leave it here," I suggested. "The rain will destroy it easily enough."

"You're right. Wonderful idea." She tore the invitation into three pieces and dropped them on the ground. "The strange is that I very well know they will learn soon enough, but this is still satisfying."

"Christine," I said. "You are the craziest person I have ever met in all my years."

She smiled. "I'm going to take that as a compliment." She closed her eyes and faced the rain. "I do love this kingdom. I really do. I just hate Melissa."

"I can see why."

"And I can't just sit here. It's not safe to be around trees during storms."

The same knowledge I had been told growing up. "Do you want to head back after that display of insanity?"

"Soon enough." She climbed to her feet just as lightening cracked over the sky. "No, we'll head back now. Another run sound good to you?"

"I…"

She headed down a completely different trail through the trees.

"Christine!" I shrieked. I was the angel. I should have more power over her than this.

By the time I caught up to her she had already stopped. She was staring at the ground. It was a fire pit. The rain had taken care of any possible steam, but it seemed fresh enough.

"Someone's been camping up here," she said softly.

"What does that mean?"

"I have no idea. But it's interesting. And look at the ground. Someone has slept here." She pointed at a random spot that looked no different from any of the other ground around her. My former princesshood had not taught me such things. "Who would want to sleep around here?" She pondered it for another moment, but then thunder and lightening came again. This time she screamed. "I don't like storms as much as I pretend to!" And then she was running. Again.

The trees faded into clear field, which was safer save for the fact that Christine was now the tallest thing around. The rain came down in sheets. I could not see inches in front of my face. It was water that had burst from nowhere, as if God Himself had shredded open the sky. I was well aware that things did not quite work that way but the simile was understandable. Christine continued to run. I let my eyes see to her, though I could not imagine how she was able to see anything. "Christine" I shouted, this time in worry.

There was a scream.

Not lightening. Please, no lightening.

It looked like she had simply tripped. She seemed to be miles away from me, lying on the ground, slowly picking herself up before collapsing again.

I had to get to her.

But before I could move, something else happened. Like another angel, though this was clearly mortal. A man on a horse. He climbed off the horse. Water poured from his hat as he bent to the ground to pick up the girl called Christine. She seemed unhurt. Good.

For some reason, I could not move. I could just watch.

They were speaking. Both mouths moved. They looked at each other.

They were speaking.

It was Wyatt, of course. That man was Wyatt.

I did not understand.


	12. Flirtation

As if I were stuck in a nightmare I watched them, as over my mind fell a haze that told me in a lie these were two entirely different people. A wealthy merchant and a respectable daughter of a small home. A traveler and a gypsy. Ghosts. I breathed in that thought like air and wanted to choke it out as I grasped the horrible truth. The horse stood stoically in the rain, ruffling its mane when the water drenched too much. One of Wyatt's hands grasped the reins, as if he were prepared in a moment to simply jump back on the horse and ride off to wherever had been his original destination. In the rain. Who in his right mind would ride a horse in the rain if they could help it? Christine faced him, looking for all the world liked a little soaked flower. Their bodies were so close a large and accidental move was all they needed to touch. Was I jealous? Was I not allowed to be?

Again like in a dream I moved toward them. I realized my feet moved—I of course made them move—but it seemed I was only assisting in the necessary. I barely felt the grass, cold and slippery against my ankles. I barely felt the rain. I saw everything clearly, at least Wyatt and Christine, two figures trapped in a haze. He had helped her. That was all that was needed. I was far away, and certainly by the time I had reached him all pertinent conversation would have ended and each would be once again on different ways. I was not running; I only felt dizzy, too lightheaded to walk. And ahead of me, just beyond a grassy rise in the ground dotted with wildflowers, Wyatt and Christine continued to talk and their voices softly and slowly reached me.

In no time I stood before them, invisible. Invisible. What a word. With a sudden burst of consciousness I realized that I could have stood between them naked for all the world to see and they would not have noticed me. Invisible was what I was. Yet I stood not three feet away, one to my left and the other to my right, silent and angry as rain poured through me. I could not think, save for a tiny but guilty notion that this was not behavior appropriate for an angel. Their voices were all I could hear.

For the first time outside her home, Christine looked authentically demure. Her eyes met Wyatt's most of the time, but she could not hold her gaze long before it dropped to the ground with a secret smile. It was a smile I recognized all too well. Had I not worn the same smile myself? In the presence of the same man? Was that not my right to hold that stupid smile? She was not talking at the moment, just listening. I would have so much preferred for her to do the talking. Rather than Wyatt, who refused to get on the poor horse no matter how long he hung on to those reins. At this proximity he was even closer to her. That was not right. He was supposed to be by me.

"It's a wonderful story," he was saying. His fingers rubbed the leather of the reins. I would not have been surprised if he up and gave them to Christine. Let her ride the royal horse. "It's probably not as refined in writing as some of my counselors would recommend, but the story itself is good. Something that the ladies, I suppose, would love."

Christine laughed softly. Nothing flirtatious, at least not the coquettish giggles of before. "Prince Wyatt, it seems as if you would demean what people read."

He returned the laugh, and a faint blush ran over his face. He was so handsome. Every time I saw him it was if I had forgotten how handsome he was. "I try not to. If I do, it is because my poor mind has been trained to absolute snobbery. Though I admit that one can only read so much history and philosophy and government papers."

"My father kept histories for you, if you recall."

Wyatt's smile vanished away.

"I happen to be absolutely fascinated by history." The flirtation was back, a small portion of it. The rest was thoroughly real. With a bite. Christine was incapable of keeping back that bite.

"I'm sorry, Christine, I meant no offense. The histories of the kingdom were wonderful and—"

Christine burst out in laughter, nearly doubled over with it. I could have seen it come a mile away. Wyatt was a visage of confusion for a good ten seconds before he gave way into laughing as well.

"I'm sorry!" she said with a sudden end to the mirth as she tossed back her sopping mop of hair. "I'm so sorry, but I couldn't resist."

"You're unfair, Christine. You are unfair."

She shook her head, eyes sparkling enough to light up every raindrop on her face. "It's not everyday I get to bend royalty to my will." More flirtation. And yet she seemed to be utterly obsessed with it. The conversation was a not a quick game. "And I can't assume to tell you what to read. And yes, I have read that book. Three times. I keep a copy under the washtub."

Wyatt rose an eyebrow. "Interesting place to keep a book."

"It's a horrible habit of mine. I keep books everywhere. My favorite hiding spot is in the flour bags."

"Isn't that messy?"

"I'm in charge of the cooking. It's messy, but I simply blow it out and it's wonderful at keeping people out of my things."

"And these things happen to be books?" Wyatt moved ever so closer to Christine, so much that I wanted nothing more than to reach out and tear him away from her.

The flirtation dissipated and shyness returned. I could not understand these changes in her. It was like a swing. "I love reading," she said simply. "If I could choose one thing in the world it would be reading. Sadly, I have to steal time for extra reading, but I manage to get it done. My father kept books and I inherited all of them. I assume you like reading as well?"

"It was turned my way," he replied.

That was true. Wyatt had been a decent enough reader before he had met me, but my own habits were similar to Christine's if not worse. To love me Wyatt had to love reading. To think of the many afternoons curled up in his lap with a book while he either napped or read over my shoulder!

Christine gave a tiny laugh. "Turned your way? You make it sound like a disease."

"Perhaps it is." He returned the laugh. "A good disease, but it is for me. I don't exactly have time to waste on reading. My chief advisor finds anything outside the aforementioned sciences silly. He's a good man otherwise."

"Perhaps you will have to turn it his way as well." She moved a soaked lock of hair from her eyes just as another clap of thunder punched against the sky. This time she did not scream. "Prince Wyatt, I think I should be getting somewhere dry."

"Women." Wyatt said the word like an insult, but a smile was still on his face. "Can't handle a little rain? Why, I've been to countries where this is considered a spring mist."

"But it's not spring. What kind of country did you visit? They must be fish there. Strange walking fish people."

Welcome to Tamenrook. Just how would Christine survive there? Being afraid of a little thunder."

Wyatt's smile softened. "The people there are… very nice, actually. Besides the rain the land isn't very wild."

"Not like us northern barbarians." Christine paused a moment. Thinking, based on her expression. "May I ask why you went there?"

Silence. The horse shook water from its nostrils. Disgusting, almost. "I think we should find some place dry," Wyatt finally said. "Is your home nearby? Is it that house over—"

"No," Christine said quickly. "I live further out. Miles, in fact."

"And you are all the way over here?"

She rose her head gallantly and shook her out. "Yes, I truly am all the way over here, as you put it. Is it questionable for a girl to travel so far by herself? Without an escort? I know that the ladies of your palace need to have escorts and I can appreciate that but a common girl like me? Why, I can sneak around with the best of them."

Wyatt laughed. "I would not put it past you. Though I would like to remind you that I was the one forced to rescue you, damsel in distress, when you fell."

"I slipped on wet grass!"

"Actually, I would prefer to call you clumsy."

"Your Highness, you are terrible."

He only grinned. "Well, I can offer you a ride back home."

"Thank-you, but I am perfectly capable of walking."

She was perfectly capable. I would to see to it that she would come to no harm. Wyatt did not need to assist her home. That was not his duty. I watched him closely. Even through the rain I could smell him. He smelled like the rain, only not.

"I can't allow a citizen of my kingdom to come to any danger if I can help it. Especially when I am about to be crowned King. I'm sure your death at my irresponsibility would be frowned upon."

"You could always hide my body."

"How can I hide it if you become lost out there and die among the trees? No one will ever be able to find you."

"Until years later when some poor child comes across dead and bleached bones."

Ugh. What a disgusting image.

Wyatt continued to smile, but he said nothing.

At least Christine was wise enough to notice the awkwardness. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "That's really a horrible thing to say. I shouldn't… we should be getting out of the rain soon. I've kept you too long from wherever you were going."

"I was simply going for a walk. Just like you."

"I think it's about time for such walks to end." Her fingers found their ways to her hair, where they began to braid the wet snaggles. "I need to be going."

"Let me take you home."

"I can't—"

And, as the entire universe worked against me, he grabbed her hand. There it was, her tiny little work-work hand trapped inside his leather-gloved palm. "Please. You told me it was miles. I as a gentleman cannot allow any woman to travel so far."

I wanted to do something. I had to do something. This entire scene was taking place before my eyes and I was powerless. I did not exist here.

Christine did said nothing for a very long time. Finally, she gave the tiniest of nods.

Neither of them spoke. He simply helped her onto his horse and took off on a steady trot. Not the romantic race across the wet landscape I had expected and dreaded, but an almost slow pace.

They continued not to speak.

I followed. I had no other choice but to follow. It was the Prickling, but not quite. But Christine still needed me. Why in heaven's name did she still need me? The obvious occurred to me. I, as Angel, had told Wyatt clearly that Christine worked for Melissa. I was quite certain he knew where Melissa lived. He knew that was her house! Why would he take them both so far out of the way?

It was like death all over again, without the light. My only light came from the sky that split into seams with every crack of lightning. The grey sky was the lid of a coffin. I followed, but I did not chase. They stayed in front of me. I could not see what they were doing. And I, like a sad little puppy, drifted behind.

In the end, the situation was almost humorous. Out of some desperation Christine pointed to an old abandoned cottage lying among the willows. I suppose it was romantic in a dismal way. A bright little pixie girl living out among the trees and flowers and no doubt woodland creatures. At this point I was worried with Wyatt if he believed this was truly her home.

And he said as much. He helped her down and said, clearly, "That was your home back there. You work for Lady Melissa."

Christine blushed. "You… knew that about me?"

"Your friend told me."

She stared at the ground. "I'm sorry I lied to you."

"I'm sorry I dragged you out here."

I was sorry I was there at all.

"Take me back?" she asked.

More time together.

He stared at her. "I really must be going this way. It's… it's important. I can't explain it right now. But I know this cottage. You'll be warm and dry here. I would pick you up again shortly."

"What about your duty as a gentleman?"

That was flustering. He bit his lip. "I... if I must."

I stared at Christine, unsure of what I wanted her to say."

"No," she said finally. "I'll wait. Do what you need to do."

"I'll be back as soon as I can, Christine."

"And I'll vandalize this room."

He laughed. "You'll be fine. Farewell." He set off back along the trail. So much of me wanted to follow him.

Christine turned around, unsurprised that I stood before her visible. It was unnerving.

"Fawn," she said. 'I have to go that ball."


	13. The Chapel

_I resurrect another one._

* * *

"I have to go to that ball."

Christine's words hung in the air, sparking with nearly as much electricity as the lightning outside. The words I wanted to say were hidden even from my awareness and caught in my throat. Whatever they were, I couldn't say them.

But she didn't notice my silence. She was the elf-girl once more, wild, captured only by the attentions of a prince. "I've never felt like this before, Fawn. This began as a game. A simple, silly game! I was bored and lonely—not that I don't like having you around." She sighed deeply, eyes closed against the rain, and opened the door of the cottage.

The place smelled of dust, pine, and rotting plants—not a bad smell, all things considered. It was dark, near black, so I fashioned a magic light. The cottage consisted of a single room, empty save for a table and three accompanying chairs. Dust and cobwebs lay thick everywhere.

"He knows this place?" I muttered.

Christine sat in a chair without hesitation. "Men. They are never clean. Would it be awful to say I have the strongest urge to scrub this place down?"

I shrugged. "No, I would not consider it awful. This place is disgusting."

Yet no cleaning of any sort began. Christine's mind was elsewhere and watching her I realized I had never seen her so happy. The emotion suited her.

"Am I crazy?" she asked, half to me, half to herself. "He's so much older than I… and royalty. I don't think I'm quite a pauper. But it's the age that bothers me. Is that wrong?"

I had never seen a problem with ages. In Tamenrook it mattered very little. I found myself shaking my head. Approval. What was I doing?

"But he's handsome," continued her musing. "I always loved the idea of the Prince, but I never thought he'd be so handsome. Oh, but Fawn, it's not just that! He's everything! He's so smart. He's funny. He recognizes me. He knows who I am!" She traced a pattern through the table's dust. "No one has known who I am in so long. Listen to me. I must be mad."

I watched her, my heart pounding, and saw her for what she was: a frightened little bird locked up for far too long and desperate for any chance of freedom. Did she even care about Wyatt? Was he just some storybook dream to her? I forced away the realization. I was not here to judge her. That was not my job. She was my friend, had said so herself. I owed her that much. "Why do you want to go to the ball? It will just be some stuffy political thing." I was speaking from my own experiences, but I didn't care. No matter how much I had anticipated the engagement ball.

She shook her head. "I don't know. But I want to. That much I know. I… I want to see Prince Wyatt. I want to dance with him. It would be fun. A dream come true. I know that if I could just dance with him, one single dance, I could be happy if I never saw him again. No matter what they did to me, what they said to me, I would know that I danced with a prince who knew my name."

"She needs to go to the ball."

The voice was slight, barely above a whisper, but it came straight to my ears. Christine continued her tabletop dust art and I vaguely observed she was drawing the crude sketch of a figure in a dress. She did not notice the voice.

Bernard stood at the other end of the room, shielded with the darkness. He looked the same as he had the other night, the same cloak covering him, the same kind face. But he was not smiling.

"Princess Fawn," he said, eyes on me. "Please make sure she gets to that ball. She cannot hear me. I cannot help her. She is your task. Please make sure she goes."

I closed my eyes and nodded. Yes, he was right. Sending Christine to that infernal ball was what I had to do. I could feel as much. Was this why I was here? To send her to some ball so she could dance the night away with a prince? My prince?

"Thank-you," Bernard whispered, and he left. With his disappearance the most intangible thing happened. Something lifted from the cottage, something so subtle I had noticed it until it was gone. The air was clearer, freer. Something painful was no more.

"Fawn," said Christine, turning her eyes toward me.

I hesitated to respond. My heart was suddenly icy.

"Fawn?"

I breathed in and looked at her, smiling. I did care for her, I realized. In spite of these circumstances, I cared for her "Yes?"

"The courier said it was a coronation ball. Everyone is to attend." She shook her head. "I can tell you right away Melissa would never let me go. Never. And even if she would, I have absolutely nothing to wear. There are a few dresses of my mother's somewhere, but don't ask me where. Grace and Amelia would never loan me anything. I can't go in this."

I laughed, shaking off some of the ice from my heart. "No, you certainly can't. It's wet and muddy."

"And even clean I'd be a wreck. You make your own clothes. Could you do the same for me?"

"Well, I've never tried nor even thought about it, but, well, I don't see why I couldn't." Against my will my mind began to dress Christine in various outfits.

"Fawn, you are amazing. I'm glad you're here."

Then, before I even knew what was happening, she stood up and threw her arms around me. When was the last time I had been hugged? Ah, well. I squeezed her back.

"Where do you suppose he's gone?" Christine asked.

For one wild moment I thought she was referring to Bernard. But Wyatt. Of course Wyatt. "He said he'd be back for you."

"He had better. He can't very well leave me in a storm." She sat back down at her dusty chair. "I wonder if they've missed me yet at the house."

"Don't worry about them. Would you mind if I hunted Wyatt down for you?"

Her smile would have been plenty to light up the cabin. "Would you?"

I stepped out into the rain. The dust did nothing to me, but the rain was cleansing just the same. Now for my missions. Find Wyatt. Where out here would Wyatt need to go? I stepped out from the willows. Wyatt, I thought. Where are you? Then it occurred to me to follow Christine's lead and observe the ground. The grass was sparse, and with a little effort I could imagine the tracks of a horse leading over the hill. Christine was no longer on my mind. Wyatt.

But even he could not absorb all attention. There was still to deal with that feeling I had in the cottage after Bernard had left.

I could not be sure, but I suspected I had made a mistake. When I had first seen him the other night, I had assumed he was an angel.

He did not live. That much was clear. He could see me. But when? He was a wanderer, not content to stay in one realm of earth or the spirit world.

But there was darkness about him, pain. He was not quite like me.

He was not an angel.

* * *

The storm continued as I followed Wyatt's trail. It did not bother me. In fact, I liked the rush of the wind and water, the scream of the thunder and even the flash of the lightening. It was welcoming and familiar. Several times I simply stood, arms stretched out, taking in this creation. I would never understand those who despised storms so.

At last I spotted the horse, not even spooked, tethered to a post beneath a low lean-to which stood before a tiny chapel. The horse gazed placidly into the storm. The chapel bewildered me for a moment until I noticed the collection of cottages and farms half-visible through the trees. Even in life I had held a natural reverence for chapels and solemnly I entered.

The interior was small, but neat, thanks to the old caretaker who even as I entered was sweeping between the pews. Wyatt sat in one near the front. Invisible, I approached.

He was not praying or anything. His gaze was on his hands, where a tiny piece of jewelry flashed in and out of his toying fingers. Blue and green.

"The coronation is approaching," he said softly. "It should have been years ago. After the wedding. But you knew my father. Even then he would not have given over the crown easily."

If the caretaker heard him, he gave no sign. Perhaps he was used to leaving people in peace.

"I didn't come last month," he said apologetically. "I'm sorry for that, but I hope you understand how things are."

"You're busy," I whispered. "It's only to be expected."

"I was nearly stopped today," he continued. "By a young woman. I left her in an abandoned cottage I used to play in as a child. Horrible of me, but I played a joke on her and took her quite far from her home. She's very pretty. Not like you weren't." A smile snuck out from his mouth, and I observed again how well time wore on his face. I wanted so badly to kiss his cheek.

"Her name is Christine. She works for Lady Melissa. I don't know if you'd remember her. She ate with us that evening, she and her husband. I never cared for Lady Melissa, but Christine is a delight. I don't know if you would have liked her or not. But there is something about her… I don't know. Maybe I'm just attracted to life. She seems to breathe it all in. But I can't do anything, Fawn. Not yet. The story is still the same. Nothing. Nothing new from your family. Everything died with Gavin Grey."

Outside the thunder growled. Wyatt sighed and placed my engagement ring back in his pocket. "I miss you."

The ride back to the cottage betrayed nothing of his words in the chapel. I breezed along after him, suddenly quick as the wind. He was even smiling as he stopped at the cottage where Christine waited in the doorway.

"That wasn't long at all, Your Highness!" she said. "Where did you go?"

"The old chapel by the Creek village." Wyatt answered her question simply. What was next, the words he had spoken to me? He helped Christine onto the horse.

"There? That was your big secret?"

"It's special," he said, almost grumpily. "I suppose I really can't answer why, but you've heard the stories of my princess, I have no doubt. It was one of the places I always wanted to show her." The horse started off with an impatient trot. Outside the willows, the storm was finally fading.

"You wanted to show her an old church?"

"It's part of history. Before the one built in the city, it was the only one for miles. I just feel she would have liked it. It's silly, I know, but I like to go there."

"I meant no offense," said Christine, voice gentler. "I… I find the idea romantic."

"She was murdered," Wyatt said, as if no one knew the story. "I should let her go. I realize that. But no one knows who sent the man who killed her. It's almost an obsession of mine, an itch."

"What was the man's name?"

"Gavin Grey. A wandering assassin."

Christine was lost in thought for a moment. "I've heard that name. I think my father once mentioned him."

"When?" Wyatt's voice was demanding.

"Years ago. I'm trying to remember."

"What do you remember?"

Christine twisted as if he had struck her. "I was very little at the time. I'm so sorry. I just remember the name. I liked the sound of the Gs, but it was also the way he said it. Like a secret." She shrugged. "I'm sorry. I only remember my impression."

"It's all right," he replied. "I just…"

"I understand."

They road in silence the rest of the way. I barely recalled following them.

The house came into view, a tall and threatening structure against the grey sky. I stood not far off, watching.

Bernard stood at the building's corner. He did not seem to notice me. His attention was on Christine.

"Come to the ball," Wyatt said. It was almost a royal command.

Christine nodded.

I marched past them to Bernard, who finally became aware of me. "Who are you?" I demanded. "What do you want from Christine?"

The kind face smiled at me, but could I trust it? "I want her happiness. She deserves that much. But that is your duty."

"I know." I glanced at Christine and Wyatt, who had resumed their conversation. "And what is your duty? Who are you?"

"My duty?" He now frowned, a perfect reverse of emotion. Sadness filled his face. "My duty, Princess, is you."

"Who are you?" I repeated. "What are you?"

"Less than you," he said. So much darkness resonated from him I couldn't believe I had thought him like me. "Much less than you." And with that, he faded from my sight.

I grasped at the air where he had been. Nothing.

Behind me, I heard Christine's voice, pure as crystal. "I never heard her name."

Then Wyatt's voice, empty. "Her name was Fawn."


	14. Revelation

My name hung in the chilly air, a strike of lightning all its own with the force to split the sky. My name was not to be said like that. Not by Fawn, not by Bernard. Wyatt was one of the select few meant for my name, but his voice with that name was a second knife wound to my heart. He had said it to himself, to me, in prayer, to Evan in privacy. I loved the way he said it, the barest flexing of his voice and intonation. His eyes would have changed. I knew that much. I had not seen them, but I knew they must have shown something, a flicker of my memory.

Yet all my adoration of Wyatt and my name could not sweep away the fact that he had just spoken my name to Christine. I whirled about, though what I intended to do I did not know. I saw the surprise on Christine's face, the next unspoken question. Change it, you fool, I thought silently to Wyatt. Change the name. Give me back my secret.

The mist clung to Wyatt's dripping hair as he continued. "The day of the engagement ball. I imagine you've heard that story all ready. She was ready to be a queen. She was beautiful, smart, perfect. She was just what my father desired in a queen, but she was much more than that. Fawn was my best friend. I loved her." He flicked away the mop of water drenching his hair.

"She must have been very beautiful," murmured Christine. She looked ever so much like a ghost, more than ever before, pale and pristine in the rain. Or a nymph, emerged from the rain itself. She was beautiful. How could she call be beautiful? "May I ask Your Highness what she looked like?"

Wyatt smiled. Pure happiness. "Her hair was brown. Pale brown curls about her face. Her eyes were brown as well. Just like a fawn. Her body…" He cleared his throat. "My apologies. This is hardly appropriate to speak to anyone. Christine, thank you for listening, though. I'm sorry to bore you with the past--"

"I wasn't bored. Trust me. I find it fascinating."

"Once again, please come to the ball." He took her hand and kissed it. "I want to see you there, more than anything. I must go. I've taken enough of your time."

Christine said nothing, but gave only a slight nod. Her mind seemed elsewhere.

Wyatt climbed back onto his horse as another set of lightning tore over the sky. So much for the storm dying out. "Goodbye, Christine. Till another day."

"The ball." It did not seem to be her voice speaking.

He smiled at that. "Yes, the ball. Please come." And then he pulled the reins and took off slowly, constantly glancing back at Christine, who was like a statue before the house, dripping and silent.

But as soon as Wyatt disappeared from sight, she shouted my name. "Fawn!"

I appeared. I did not know what else to do. I was weak before her.

Her eyes were wide and hurt. Her entire body seemed ready to shake. "You," she said softly. "You."

"We should go inside," I replied.

She agreed by throwing open the door and dashing inside. I ran after her, exploding into the house's sudden warmth, a stifling contradiction to the storm outside. Whatever chores she had left were forgotten as she took to the stairs, feet thundering up into the eventual darkness of the attic.

So I beat her there. The attic was a return to the old cottage. Rain splattered just above me in a hypnotic din, and the rainy mist seemed ready to seep through the window. I stood in the middle of the room, suddenly terrified.

Christine quickly burst through the door and flung herself into the pathetic mess of a bed. Her arms supported her as she gasped into her blankets. And I waited. Was that not one of my duties? Wait and help?

Finally she was ready, and she rose to sit, hair tumbling and snarled down her back and front, eyes red. "You are her."

I closed my eyes. I could not reply. I did not know how.

"Fawn. You are Princess Fawn. You are her. Answer me. You must answer me."

The secret was no longer mine. I nodded.

"And just when were you going to tell me? Fawn, look at me. Please."

I unshut my eyes. Brown eyes. Like a small fawn in the woods. "What do you want me to say?"

She shrugged. Her lovely hair was like straw. "I don't know. I don't know what to think. I don't understand any of this. Is he why you're here? Did you come for Wyatt?" She did not bother with the title of prince. "Are you here for him and not me?"

"Christine, listen," I said. "I didn't…"

"What am I, then?" She climbed to her feet and began to pace the room. "An innocent pawn in your game?"

"I don't have a game."

She nodded and choked back a sob. "I know. I just… he said your name and everything then made sense and I didn't know what to think."

"I don't know what to think, either." My voice sounded calm. Did I really feel so?

"You should. You're the angel. My fairy godmother. Shouldn't you know everything? You found me. You said you were here for me." She stopped at the window, her hand pressed against the glass. "You were my friend. Why didn't you tell me?"

"My life was over, Christine. I'm here for your life. That's my duty. That's why I am here." Perfect response. Sympathetic, selfless. Just what an angel was supposed to say. "My life is over. Heaven, the spirit world… it's beautiful. None of this is supposed to matter anymore."

"Supposed to. What does that mean?"

"You're jealous?" The words came from nowhere with my voice.

She sighed and turned back to me. "No. I am not jealous. I can't feel that for this. I just want to know if you knew."

I felt so odd there in the attic, standing in the middle, motionless. And yet my entire body buzzed. "I did not know. I saw you in the village. I followed you here. I knew I was supposed to help you. I didn't know why, I didn't know how. I did not know you worked for Lady Melissa. I met her once, when I was alive. The day before I died, in fact. And then I saw Wyatt."

She sucked in air.

"Christine, you were first. You are first."

For a long moment nothing happened. The rain battered against the attic roof, the only stillness in that space. Then she threw her arms around me and squeezed me tightly. "Fawn, I am so sorry."

"It's not your fault," I replied. That moment, for the first time in a long time, I felt like what I was supposed to be. The angel. The fairy godmother. "It's no one's fault. No one did anything. I'm just here to help you. I don't know why."

Christine stepped back. The puckish smile was back. "There must be a reason, Fawn. There's always a reason. Think about it. You loved Wyatt. You were meant to cross his path again!"

"I don't think it works that way."

"Then what do you call it? Chance? An accident?" She spoke quickly, the words tumbling excitedly from her mouth. "Things can't happen that way. Not like this. What are the odds? My father… he believed in fate. He saw too much as a historian, too many strokes of luck or tragic blows. You are meant to see Wyatt again."

"But I've seen him! Many times since then! You have me deliver him a letter."

"That letter!" She threw back her head and sighed. "Oh, no. You spoke to him. I made you speak to him. Why did you let me do that? Why didn't you say something?"

"It doesn't matter. What about you?"

"What about me?!" She sat on the floor, legs crossed under her skirt. "Fawn, please tell me about your life. Tell me about you."


	15. Bernard Again

Evening came quietly, a muted orange glow in the west that pushed away the remainder of the storm. The light of Christine's attic dimmed until replaced by candles—no call for any angelic magic. And still we talked. Two girls, not an angel, not a servant, in a dark attic lost in conversation. How long had it been since I had experienced such a thing? My inability to recall would have broken my heart save for the wonder that the conversation was happening.

I had never been asked to tell my life story to anyone, not even by Wyatt who merely picked up things here and there via my presence and the occasional story or question. But Christine had demanded it. And what was more she listened to every word, with the rapt attention of an obedient child. Indeed, she was hardly more than a child, but at the moment that quality was a benefit to her and I found myself loving her all the more for it.

As time passed the topics changed. My short life had eventually come to its end and I suppose the same was with my story. Christine expressed no interest in the details of Heaven, which did not surprise me. I had seen her outside the house and life was her focus. Just as well. I would never understand the preoccupation with just what happened after death when the knowledge would come soon enough to everyone. As it was, she eventually spoke of herself, and I listened. And when that story ended other stories crept up: books we had read, our disgust with Melissa and her daughters, various little things we had seen various people do.

Was it proper for angels to gossip?

Though I did not think much of it, some small piece of unsaid conversation remained in my mind. Wyatt. I imagined the same held true for Christine. But what was to be said of him that either of us wanted to say?

Nothing in particular had been said when Christine finally gasped and turned her large eyes to the window as if it were the only timepiece of any importance. "Dinner! Oh, heavens, I completely forgot!" She scrambled to her feet, nearly tripping over her skirt.

I rose, too, in recognition that the irresponsibility was partially my fault. Some fairy godmother I was. "I should have said something! Instead I just talked and talked."

"No, no, I'm the one who started it." She blew out the candle and raced through the darkness to the door. "I didn't even finish… anything today. She is going to kill me, they all will, I know it." She threw the door open, still rambling on as I followed her out. "Though why no one came up to yell at me I don't know."

We charged down the stairs, myself finally rendered invisible. But the house seemed empty. A few candles flickered here and there, but the moment Christine's feet stopped the house buzzed with silence.

"Where are they?" she muttered.

But several moments later brought the faint sound of voices. A door slammed as Melissa and her daughters entered the house. "What you were thinking, riding that horse, didn't tell a soul where you were going… Christine, where are you?"

Christine, once more the obedient child but without the charm, bounded around the corner. I closed my eyes, imagined a hearty meal ready on the table, and followed.

Grace sat in a chair just inside the door, face twisted in pain. She once more wore braids, now sloppy. Her sister sat beside her on the floor, hands wrapped around Grace's ankle. Melissa stood above both of them, her face pale with both worry and anger.

"Yes?" Christine said after taking in the sight of Grace.

"You need to run to town. Grace was to be back hours ago and when we finally set out to look with her we find that she has fallen off her horse and done who-knows-what to her foot. So run to the city as quickly as you can and fetch a doctor or anyone who would know something about this. Is dinner finally ready? I imagine she'll need something in her. Just a fine thing to do before the ball."

So they had found out about the coronation ball already.

"Good, you have it on the table, I hope. I can smell it. Now, go, hurry. Amelia, find some cloths for wrapping."

Amelia straightened up. "Why should I—"

Melissa rolled her eyes and pointed harshly to the hall. "Because Christine is going and I said so!"

Lip trembling and eyes burning, Amelia rose.

Meanwhile, Christine was out the door. Perhaps it was my duty to follow her, but I figured she could fetch someone on her own, so I turned my attention to Grace. Her boot was off, and her ankle was swollen and red. I knew next to nothing about the medical arts, but mending it would be a snap, if I so chose. Angels were not necessarily meant to fix everything that went wrong in lives. But I was not sure I saw my lack of help in such a noble light.

"What on earth were you doing out there?" Melissa asked as she pulled out Grace's braids with surprising tenderness. "That storm had come out of nowhere and you picked that time for your horseback riding."

"I like riding, Mother," Grace replied through clenched teeth. "I wanted to see the storm. I thought it was pretty."

"The ball is next week, you silly girl. Next week. You were to be presented to the Prince. Prince Wyatt. My dream for you."

"Funny. I could have sworn it was your dream for Amelia."

"Don't talk like that. You are both my gems and you have as much chance of being Queen as does Amelia." She put a hand on Grace's forehead. "At least there is no fever."

"Prince Wyatt would never look at us. I'm sure he'd prefer an alliance with another kingdom."

Melissa sniffed. "Look where that took the royal family. You're nobility, Grace. You and Amelia have as much chance as anyone. Perhaps better. And now you've gone and ruined it."

Grace's smile was slightly less pained. "Perhaps the Prince will take pity on me. I might stand out."

Melissa laughed out loud. All argument between mother and daughter was gone in that moment. "You're right, darling. Providing you can travel, we can certainly make this work to our advantage."

Amelia returned with cloths. "Here you are. And what are you laughing about?"

"Nothing," said Grace. "Just wrap my ankle, please."

"You know you won't go to the ball like this."

Another round of laughter.

"We're hoping my tragedy will get the Prince's attention," Grace explained. "A poor subject, injured but still wishing to attend his coronation."

"And then he'll see me, the helpful sister."

I did not understand it. The competition for my Wyatt was there, but neither sister seemed threatened by the other. There was a closeness in this despicable family I could not help but admire, but at the same time I was struck by how it seemed such a game to them.

The dinner my magic had prepared was eventually eaten as Melissa and Amelia cared for Grace. Finally Christine reappeared with an elderly man she introduced as the doctor. His report was that Grace's injury was nothing serious.

"Pity," said a now-familiar voice behind me.

I sighed as I turned around. "Bernard. Good to see you again."

He bowed to me, once more the perfect gentleman.

"You pushed her," I realized. "You pushed her off of her horse."

"I did."

"You could have killed her."

"Killing people is no longer my line of work." He said them so simply, those words. Words that did not belong on such a kind face.

The doctor was assisting Grace to her room, Melissa and Amelia helping. Christine had vanished. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I would never kill the girl. The all think of it as an accident. Grace was meeting someone. A man, if you must know. Don't know the details of that, but as you can see the Crown is what they all want. But Grace is quite lovely, as is Amelia. It won't do to have either of them upstaging Christine at the ball."

I had an urge to strike him. "What will you do to Amelia? Throw her from a window?"

He smiled warmly. How could he show such a smile? "I thought you didn't like this family."

"I don't. But…" I had no reply.

"Angels. Don't worry. I understand."

I took a deep breath. I did not need the air, but the habit calmed me. "You said early, you were here for me."

He nodded. "I'm here to help me."

"By hurting people?"

"Incidentally. You'll see. Go find Christine."

"Christine? What does she have to do with anything?"

"Plenty. She's upstairs, looking through her father's things. Go find her."

I did not wait for him to disappear, though I imagined he would. I just left.

I found Christine in a little room in some vague corner of the house. I was not even sure how I arrived there. But upon entering I could not imagine how I had never sensed the place. The ceiling was low and there were no windows. Instead the walls were filled with shelves and dust and books. It was a treasure trove.

Christine sat on the floor, motionless. A box of old correspondence sat next to her. In her lap were several letters.

"Christine?" I called.

She did not reply.

"Christine?"

She looked up at me, startled. Her eyes were red. No tears, only shock. "I found something," she murmured, handing me the letter. "I had never seen the box. I told you I would have to look through my father's things. I came up here, and some books fell, and… I found the box."

Bernard, I thought. Push a girl, push a box. I took the letter.

_The gold has been received and the exchange was never seen. I send you this message with the same security._

_I am now in Tamenrook, awaiting the arrival of the royal family of Sunelle. I expect them in several days. I also expect Lady Melissa to be in the party as you have assured me._

_I will expect the rest of my payment back in Sunelle._

_--G. G._

I felt frozen. G. G. Gavin Gray. Without a word to Christine, I turned the letter over. It had never been placed in any official envelope, but held together with a mere dollop of wax, no seal. It looked ordinary enough, nothing worthy of attention.

A name was scrawled across the back, the name of the recipient.

Bernard Davrel.


	16. Irony

At that moment every piece of Heaven exploded around me. Perhaps it was wicked to think such a metaphor, but God would simply have to forgive me. The past nine years of letting everything go… my death… whatever brought me to this place to help Christine… I did not understand, and my world crashed.

Angel, I thought. I'm an angel, a wanderer, it is not my place to be concerned for myself. I'm not supposed to feel this way. I was here for Christine, I was here for Christine. I was to help her. What was her place in all of this? Why had this happened?

God, why do you bring this to me now?

The letter dropped from my hand, and I heard Christine scramble to pick it up. I fell back against the wall, feeling as mortal as I had felt ever, mortality included.

"I'm so sorry, Fawn," Christine whispered. "I didn't know. You have to believe me, I didn't know."

As if I blamed her for anything. She would have been nothing but a child at the time. Capable of nothing. I shook my head. Be the angel, be the fairy godmother. Assure her even if it would sound fake even though I didn't fault her a thing. "We don't know anything, Christine. It's just a letter. It could be anything. It could mean anything."

"It's addressed to my father. See? Bernard Davrel."

"It still could be anything."

"I saw it in your face, Fawn. Don't be stupid. G.G. is Gavin Grey. And now I know. But I don't know. Why would my father be involved with someone like that?"

"Your father's name is Bernard Davrel?" I could not use "was".

She nodded. "Bernard Davrel the Historian." She sighed deeply and sat back, eyes speckled with tears. "I don't understand. He knew Wyatt was coming. Gavin Grey was waiting for the Royal Family. Why?"

I closed my eyes. The room spun. I felt sick and I was not supposed to feel sick. I could only cling to a prayer that this would end well, that until that ending this was going the way it was supposed to go.

Bernard. The mysterious Bernard who was not what I was… he was Christine's father.

"Gavin Grey killed you," Christine was saying. "He killed you, Fawn!"

As if I were not perfectly aware of that fact.

"And my father… he gave him money."

I opened my eyes to see the Christine drop the letter as if it were acid. "He gave him money to kill you."

"Why would he want to kill me?"

She did not reply. She jumped to her feet and ran, ran in the rush that only Christine could run, so quiet I could hardly hear her through the halls, down the stairs, somewhere.

Slowly, so it wouldn't hurt, I knelt down and reread the letter. The inky words were large and whirling. Written by my killer. This letter had been written by my killer. I should have dropped it again, like Christine had, but I held on, my fingers pushing further into the paper. There was something joyous about holding it. No, joyous was not the right word. But I felt power from the letter, delicious and satisfying even as it was bitter. Finally, I had something. In all the years of searching for a connection, here it was, a golden prize.

Other letters littered the floor, and they pulled me. I went willingly, my skin tingling as it touched them. Some were dull and meaningless, others were not.

_My Darling Bernard,_

_My husband and I will be attending others of the court to Tamenrook. I'll meet Gavin Grey there. I'll let him in, and I will let him know every possible movement of the Princess. The plan is perfect._

_I miss you terribly, my love, and I cannot wait to rejoin you. Till then, my heart is yours._

_~Yours, Melissa_

That was the shortest and the most informative. Others came from Melissa, disgusting love letters of their affair. I should have been sick, but instead I wanted to laugh. I was already dead, what did any of this matter but the information I could glean from it?

I poured through more letters, hoping to find more. But that was it, and it was enough.

"And so you see." Bernard stood behind me, a suddenly pathetic figure who seemed to draw all light from the room.

I slowly turned to him, wondering curiously what my emotions would be. Anger? Tears? God-given forgiveness? I so hoped against the latter.

He did not smile, but his face held a grim humor. Here was the punch line of his joke all scattered about the floor. His eyes were dull, but bore into me just the same.

"I see," I said softly. My body trembled, but it was impossible for me to do anything against them. Already I could feel my arms restrained. "I see what you have done."

"My life," he said with a broad gesture at the study. "And my life's bitter fruit. You."

"I did nothing to you."

"I know. It wasn't personal, it never was personal. But power… well, it is what it sounds like. It's strong, it's tempting, and it can hide anywhere, including in the form of a bookish historian who only cared about his family. Or so he thought."

"You killed me."

"Once I may have argued I did not drive that blade into you. But here I am."

"Why?" The room grew darker the longer we stood there, unable to be in the presence of this dark, dark creature with his dying eyes and unsmiling face. I felt safe, of course, nothing of darkness could get me. But that made it all the worse. I was alone in that room.

"Why?" He laughed bitterly. "Of course that question would arise. Why would it not? I don't suppose the reason matters anymore, as if you were to suggest the ends justify the means. I did something I should not have done and for that I am eternally sorry. I was alone in this house, save for a beautiful daughter, and the occasional companionship of a lovely woman from the palace."

"Melissa."

"She was exciting and beautiful in a lonely marriage and I was widowed and lonely. An affair can be so energizing. After her husband passed away I did the noble thing and married her."

"Did you kill her husband as well?"

"No, that was merely convenience."

"You still haven't told me why."

He smiled, the most painful smile I had ever seen, and reached down to the pick up the letters. He took his time about it, humming a solemn tune. When he had finally placed them back in their box, he turned back to me. "I had a daughter I would have given the world. A beautiful creature named Christine. Melissa drew me to power. I wanted that for Christine. I wanted to keep her for Prince Wyatt. It would take years, of course, but I could wait. Melissa had palace connections, as did I. It would be simple. Until Prince Wyatt met a princess from a southern kingdom. So I sinned. And now I'm here. Punished."

It was a long time before I could speak. "Where are you?"

"Trapped."

"Go away," I said suddenly. "I don't want you here."

"But I have to be here. I have to help you."

"To do what?" I was screaming now. "You killed me! You as good as killed me! You took me away from my life! You! All so Christine could marry Wy—" His name caught in my throat and choked me. I could not breathe. I sunk to my knees. This body, this spiritual body, had never done this before. I didn't know it could. Pain filled me. A pain beyond anything physical from my life.

"Yes," Bernard said simply, his voice distant. "Your job. Help Christine marry the Prince. What I wanted. What you're here to do."


	17. Dress

I found Christine in the attic, huddled on the mess she called a bed, an open book at her feet and her great brown eyes just staring into the darkness. A single candle attempted to light the room, and if it worked enough for her she did not give a sign. I entered silently, but correctly—actually bothering to use the door. I even considered knocking, but I wasn't sure if a soft rap would win her attention or simply be something she ignored. So I opened it and stepped in.

I felt empty. Never before had I experienced empty. Empty was something rumored to be for the dead but that was the rumor of folklore who were blind to the ways of death and Heaven and the spirit world. At my death I had felt pain and horror. Heaven, peace. Wandering, excitement, purpose.

Now, with the secret of my death out, I now felt nothing. The pain that had thrown me to the ground had burned itself out. My insides were ashes. I supposed it was better that way.

Christine did not look up as I approached. Her knees were into her chest and her hair fell about her. Ever the ghost she was. More than me.

"Christine," I said quietly.

She did not shake from her steady stare. "Go away, Fawn."

"No."

"What do you mean? I thought you were supposed to listen to me. I have you a command. Go away."

"It doesn't work that."

"I thought you were here to help me. You can help me by listening to me and leaving. You don't want to talk to me right now. You barely want to look at me. In fact, you want to be gone from my life immediately. So go." She took a deep breath and released it with a sigh that filled the entire room. "I don't want to talk to you either."

"How dare you tell me what I feel."

She finally moved, flipping hair from her shoulder. "You won't tell me. So I will. You hate me right now. Despise me. What other great words exist for expressing how bitter you feel towards me?"

I sighed and crossed the room. "For Heaven's sake, Christine, I don't hate you! Why would I hate you?" And that was true. I did not hate her.

She put a finger to her chin. "Really? You don't hate me? Yet apparently you think enough to ask about it! Sensing doubt, fairy godmother?"

She was unbelievably stubborn. "Christine—"

"Let's see what I've done. My father ordered your death. Your prince, your fiancé, has turned to me. Are neither of those good enough reasons to hate me?"

I closed my eyes. "Neither of those were your fault."

"I spoke to Prince Wyatt. I dared to write him. I traveled with him."

"And I can hardly blame you for those things."

She slammed the book shut. "I came up here. I don't want to deal with my stepsisters. I don't want to deal with Melissa. I don't want to deal with you. Do you have any idea who I am, Fawn? I'm the poor daughter of a dead historian. No noble blood whatsoever. My father had to marry into that. And what good did it do me? I became a slave the moment my father was put into the earth. I'm a thief and a liar and am unable to keep myself decently on my own lowly station."

I sat down next to her. "I thought we were friends."

"That's what I thought, too. Apparently that's not true."

"Why is that so? You have not listened to a single thing I say. Yes, I'm here to help you. And so some of that help just might require you listening to me. I don't hate you. You have done nothing. I'm here for you! Not your father, not Melissa. You." It wasn't until the final word was out of my mouth that I realized I had all but screamed it.

Christine sniffed. "Such friendship. I love how you express it."

I took a deep breath and calmed myself. Yet the feeling was good. A tiny bit of anger lighting up that emptiness and all those ashes. What had Bernard done to me that I could feel such a thing?

"You're going to that ball, Christine," I said, rising.

"No, I'm not."

"Don't you want to go?"

"No."

"Wyatt expects you." The phrase stabbed more pain into my heart.

She was silent for a long time. "No."

"You have to go."

"Wyatt isn't mine."

I watched her, that sad little girl on the bed and suddenly I did feel something that might have been mistaken for hate. Not her. Just everything she did.

"He's not mine, either," I said. I left the room.

* * *

The room I found was empty, save for a few dusty portraits leaning against a wall. A storage room, I imagined, barely more than a closet, forgotten over the years, though I liked to imagine that once it had served a greater purpose. Now it would.

I prepared the dress from magic. Magic was what Christine needed, that and a desperate need to just stand up for herself. Apparently magic was all I could give. I had always made my own illusions. My signature cloak was one of them, woven from my own thoughts and the very air around. I did the same with this dress. It would be tangible, of course. It would be real, at least for that night, and Christine and everyone else would be able to see it and touch it and feel it.

I was proud of it as I worked, even as I could hear Bernard's insistence I help Christine. Part of me wanted to just ignore everything he ever did or said, but he was right. This was my duty. The dress was beautiful. I took inspiration from every grand dress I had seen over the years, though I had enough sense to make it modern. Just with all the perks of anything beautiful. This dress would stand out.

I didn't imagine it, like I did with my own clothes. I let my fingers fly through the air, touching and grabbing and pulling. I had never made clothing before and I doubted this was anything like it, but for me it was work, the slow creation of something incredible. The skirt was a complicated cut, flowing wider and wider till it would spill upon the floor when Christine moved. The bodice was tight, and the neckline I embroidered with roses.

The color was yellow. Christine would be enchanting in pale yellow.

I worked through the night, all my thoughts on the creation of the dress. Slow, methodical. It was the greatest magic I had ever done.

Last I made the slippers. I had imagined them to be golden, but I realized it would never do. The dress color was too pale and would be overwhelmed. So I made them crystal clear.

I could almost see them sparkling on the dance floor.


	18. Forgiveness

Dawn was streaming in through the room's tiny window when I finished everything. The dress hung against the wall, gleaming in the sunlight. It was perhaps the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Pride had so often been called a sin, yet that was what I felt when I stared at the dress. I had done this. My finest creation. Was it shallow that what I created was merely a dress? It couldn't be. That moment in adolescence when I discovered there was nothing wrong with a beautiful dress had also been a moment of, going against everything I had once held dear, opportunity. Dresses could be dreams. And then there were the shoes. I had never thought a pair of shoes could be exciting. I even tried them on—they were meant for Christine's dainty feet, but still changed for me. Immediately I felt silly and took them off. Who was I to be wearing dancing slippers? I had never cared for balls.

I couldn't even remember the shoes I was supposed to wear at the engagement ball. Had it been so long ago? Funny, how some little details were so vital and others disappeared just as one might expect a small detail to do.

I did not try on the dress. Everyone was right. I did look horrible in yellow. But I could see Christine in it.

Would she enjoy the ball? The glamour, the society, the press of the crowd made of everyone Wyatt and Ethan had insisted come? Somehow I thought she would. She sought the passion of the courtly life, the excitement. I realized that now. Not as an escape, but true enjoyment. She should have been the one born as a princess. In another life, maybe, she would have possessed the confidence and the grace necessary for nobility, even royalty. Not exist as the awkward little no-account thing that she was. Would she behave at the ball? That was a fair question. I had seen her. Truly Grace and Amelia were more suited to the court. I had been more suited toward it, after years of training. I could almost see Christine there, pick-pocketing, flirting. Well, I supposed flirtation was an appropriate ball behavior.

Yes, I could see that now. Christine was not meant for the court, but she was born for it. No wonder her father had worked so hard for her. She deserved it. Somehow, as infinitely imperfect as she was, she deserved it.

A sudden wave of hate for her flowed through me. My angelic nature recoiled in horror, that I who had seen Heaven, wandered in and out of it, would dare experience hate. I fought back, insisting it was situational hate. Which it was. Ah, to have settled on a perfect description. Though that logic did nothing to prevent the desire I had to take my hard work and destroy it, letting the magic fall like starlight to the floor.

I didn't hate Christine. I had already said as much. No, I didn't hate her at all. In fact, I loved her. Loved her as the little sister that never was.

The angelic nature much preferred that feeling.

Yet I slipped to the floor, crying. Never had two such emotions combined themselves against me. What was wrong with me? I had left Bernard, swearing to myself I would never think of the pain he had caused me. I was supposed to forgive. God had commanded such. Yes, God had commanded forgiveness and all I had seen since my death had proven as much even as I hated what was so often in the world. Was that my problem? Conflicting emotions of Bernard with his daughter who had never caused me any harm save for capturing the attention of the man I loved? No, I realized. At, least I didn't think so. Realization suddenly meant nothing.

Before I could stop myself I had a hand on one shoe. I flung it against the wall, only half-willing it to shatter. That half-will saved me, and it clattered unharmed to the floor. I stared at it, shaking. Glass. It looked like glass. But I wouldn't break it like glass.

Bernard. I wanted to scream his name and demand he appear. Here I was, following my orders and he was to help me. But I didn't want to see him ever again.

Did I forgive him? Could I forgive him? Had I already forgiven him now or even some point years ago before I had even known what he had done to me? I didn't know what forgiveness of such a situation as mine felt like.

Carefully, almost fearfully, I picked up the shoe and placed it with its mate. Then I closed my eyes and willed myself to the palace.

I heard the sounds of talking before I opened my eyes. I was not Angel the messenger. I was myself, invisible, there to observe. Observe what, I didn't know.

I could hear Ethan and Wyatt. My own dear, dear Wyatt. I smiled, and could almost feel his arms around me. Is that what Christine imagined? Had she ever felt his arms around her? I did not want to know the answer, but somehow I expected it was to happen very soon. Did she even love him? How could she love someone she had only met days before? Yet there were the last words she had to me, that he was not hers.

She did love him.

And her name came up in the conversation around me.

"I barely remembered Lady Melissa had a stepdaughter," Ethan was saying. "I remember the wedding she had to the historian. I had never cared much for either of them, though the historian was wise where she was not. The little girl was lovely, though. Christine. That was my mother's name, you know."

I opened my eyes. I was in the library. Wyatt and Ethan sat at a table. No books were open, just them sitting and talking.

"She's beautiful," Wyatt said.

Ethan smirked and tapped his long fingers on the tabletop. "There are many beautiful women out there, Wyatt. Plenty of noble birth. I don't know what your father expects in a Queen, though."

"I'll be King. It won't matter."

"You barely know her."

Wyatt looked down, and I nearly gasped. He was laughing, his expression highly amused, almost embarrassed, like he were hiding some great joke. "Did I say I would propose to her the night of the ball, Ethan? I don't think I did."

"You brought up matters of marriage."

"I'm afraid that is what you did, Ethan."

"Only because I can read your face. Tell me more about the girl."

Wyatt lifted his head, face more solemn, but the joy was still there. I recognized the joy. He always wore those expressions on his face. "She's very smart. A reader. You know I like readers. Fawn was a reader, you know. She was smart. So is Christine."

Ethan's smile was widening.

"I admit, I care for her. We've spoken often." He sighed and leaned forward on the table, arms crossed. "I almost want to rescue her. Does that sound awful? But I don't think she's happy in that house."

"You can't marry her to rescue her. That never has solved a problem."

"You're exactly right. I know that. That's not what I mean. If I had felt sorry for her living with Lady Melissa I would simply offer her a position at the court. But I don't know if she would accept it. That's what intrigues me about her. She's stubborn. She does what she wants. And yes, I find that attractive. I don't know what I mean, but I feel that way but I don't feel like offering her a job. I suppose if she wanted one, we could give her one. But it doesn't seem right for her. It's like she's holding secrets."

"So what is she, then? A pretty girl you'd like to consider courting or a charity case?"

"Ethan, I'm afraid it's the former."

Ethan laughed. "It's good to see you excited over a woman."

"Just wait until you meet her. I really do believe Fawn would have liked her."

As they spoke, I found a piece of paper. I summoned ink and quill from my hand and wrote. "A connection between Gavin Grey and Bernard Davrel."

Then I let it slip to the floor. And I faded out.

This time I walked. Right through the courtyard, right into the city, and finally out into the country. The day was beautiful, no sign of any rain. This was the way the country was supposed to look on its most beautiful day. I loved it.

But despite the day's beauty my heart was spinning from the conversation. I did like Christine. Of course Wyatt would know me enough to know that I would have found Christine fascinating. That I did like her. But he would never know that. Well, he would, but it was information that would never come from me.

And he cared for Christine. Of course he did. I had seen them together. The way they spoke, the way their bodies leaned into each other. Bernard's wish and my own heavenly purpose, bringing those tears together.

What would have happened if Bernard had not had me killed? What would have become of Christine? Would she still have been slaving away in that household?

But I knew it didn't do to dwell on such things.

I was almost to the house when I stopped, surprised.

There was Christine, on horseback, pack at her side. Her long blonde hair streamed back in the wind, and her face was one of exhilaration. She urged the horse into a run, and laughed.

"Christine?" I called.

She laughed again and brought the horse to a stop. "Hello, Fawn. I am glad to find you. I wanted to apologize for last night. I was horrible. I know you don't hate me. And I love you for not hating me. I wanted to thank you for everything you've done."

"I accept. Christine, what are you doing?"

"What I should have done a long time ago. I'm running away."


	19. Runaway

"What?" Silly as it was, the first thing flashing to my mind was the image of the lovely dress I had created, hidden in that little room with its shoes unused while the ball came and went. No concern over the well-being of Christine, just distress over clothes.

"I'm running away," she repeated. She shrugged her shoulder, bringing attention to the bulky pack strapped to her back. "I've never felt so excited in my life. I stole some money, some of my mother's things, some food… not much, but I'm hoping I'm not living on the streets long."

"You're running away?" Here was I, the angel, having difficulty comprehending what she said. "Why are you running away?"

She sighed and coaxed the horse into a walk. I fell into step next to her, jogging slightly to keep up. "Why am I not running away, Fawn? You've seen that place! I don't know how I stood to stay there so long! Just because it belonged to my father…" She said the word with clear distaste. "Well, just because it's my father's home does not mean it's mine. It hasn't been mine for years. I don't think it ever was. It was my father's home and then it was… hers. And she can have it, for all I care. She and her stupid daughters can burn it to the ground."

No. It wasn't supposed to work this way. "Where are you going to go?"

"First place that will hire me, I don't know. I'm smart, I can work hard, I can get a job."

So much for my thoughts of her courtly qualities. Yet I couldn't help but smile. My dear Christine, who should have been royalty, willing to work. I had met few members of court I could say the same about.

"What are you laughing at?"

"I was to prepare you for a ball and here you are throwing yourself into labor."

"I don't mind working. And I'm not going to the ball. We've been through this."

Once again I thought of the dress and the shoes.

"Why not?"

"I just told you, I'm running away. Well, not exactly running because I'm talking to you. I need to thank you, though. I think I know now why you were here. You, my guardian angel. You were here to inspire me to run away."

That could not be it. But… somehow it felt right. I had inspired her to run away somehow. I was not quite sure how I did it, but she was right. Save for the part where she really should not be running away because clearly she was supposed to go to the ball.

Where Wyatt would be.

"You can't run away!" I shouted. In a whirl I appeared on the back of the horse, just behind her. It had been years since I had ridden a horse, and the experience was novel.

"What are you doing? Get off my horse! You're scaring him!" She whipped around, blonde hair swirling into my face.

Truth be told, the horse did not appear at all bothered; rather, he scarcely noticed me.

"Oh, there's plenty of room for both of us," I said shortly.

Christine gripped tightly the reins and sent the horse into a run. I threw my arms around her waist, though I knew I would have no problem staying on the horse. The reaction was merely a reaction.

"You're not going to throw me off the horse."

"I know." She sounded disgusted with me. "But we're running anyway. Till we reach the woods."

The woods weren't that far off.

"Christine, you need to go to the ball. I know you want to."

"Is this one of your angelic truths you know?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"I don't want to go to the ball anymore. The ball is silly. Just a night of dancing and frivolity and people like Melissa and her daughters. I do not want to spend a night with people like that." But her voice was wistful.

"You'd love it. I promise."

We reached the woods, and the horse's pace slowed as it gently found the path with little urging from Christine.

"Did… did you got to balls when you were alive?" she asked.

It was so long ago. "A few."

"Do you mind talking about it?"

"No." I really didn't. That surprised me.

"You were killed the day of your engagement ball, weren't you? What was that like?"

"Awful." I gave a dry laugh. "One single word, but I don't know any other way describe it. Awful. You can see things. Heaven is perfect and wonderful, but it doesn't shield you from these things. It's not supposed to. You see everything, everyone. Getting stabbed was bad, but that soon ended and I was fine but no one else was."

"I'm so sorry, Fawn."

"Don't be. It's supposed to be that way. Heaven isn't supposed to cut you off from everything you loved. It doesn't blind you and stuff you full of every good feeling so you forget love. I think there is a misconception on this side about that."

She nodded and stared on ahead at the trail. "Then why did you come back to this side? Why did you become a fairy godmother? Excuse me, guardian angel?"

We both laughed.

"It was my choice," I said with a shrug. "Plenty of others do it. I was just drawn to it. I guess I was ripped from this world too early. I'm not trying to reclaim my life. That's not why I'm here. It's just that there is so much beauty here that people forget about when they look toward Heaven. People forget it's God's creation."

"I like it," Christine said.

"Then you should go to the ball."

"What does God's creation have to do with Prince Wyatt's coronation ball?"

"It's something to be enjoyed."

"Fawn, why is this so important to—" Her voice trailed off as she stared off-trail into the woods. "Hello?"

I strained my ears. Someone was definitely there. I slid from the horse onto the ground. "Who's there?"

Leaves rustled, and with the snap of a branch a man stepped through the bushes and onto the path. The beginnings of a messy beard covered his chin and hid his age, though I imagined he was somewhere in his middle years. His dress was that of an outdoorsman, dirty but well fitting. A long hunting knife hung at his side.

I wanted to scream. He was bad. I could feel it.

"You're not who I expected to meet," he said with a smile. Nothing lecherous, it was not that kind of bad. But I still stood before Christine, who was still on the horse.

"Pretty girls," he said, tipping his hat. "Out for a ride?"

Christine stared at him.

"There is a ball coming up, I hear. Will you both be in attendance?"

"We have no reason to speak to you, sir," Christine said coldly. Bless her heart for not flirting with this creature.

Something suddenly fit. "You were expecting Grace," I said. "Miss Grace?"

His hesitation was answer enough. "I don't know a Miss Grace. I merely wanted to pay you both a greeting."

He was a silly, silly mortal. I was not afraid of him, I had no reason to be. "She broke her ankle last night. Was she meeting you?"

"What do you think you're talking about?" His hand reached for the knife.

"Go," I commanded Christine. I lifted my hand, and the knife snapped from the man's fingers and fell to the ground.

He cried in dismay and reached for the knife, but without touching him I threw him to the ground. Then I took after Christine.

She really could ride, and the horse could handle the forest trail well. Even at my speed I was barely able to catch up.

"Did you hurt him?" she asked as I ran along beside the horse.

"Not much. I hate to hurt anyone, I'm sorry to say. I just delayed him. Don't worry, you're hidden."

"What?"

"You're invisible. You can slow down."

The rushing green of running stopped as I slowed down with Christine and the horse. She all but tumbled to the ground, panting. I steadied her.

"So I'm invisible?" she asked between breaths. "I don't feel much different."

Out of the corner of my eye I could see the man, dizzy but standing and moving, looking for us. He was so close, just a few bends in the path away, visible through the threes. His gaze fell over us without seeing.

"I should have done it before," I said. "I'm so sorry."

We stared at the man. After a minute, he vanished, feet tromping through the brush.

Christine slipped down next to a tree, tears in her eyes. "I was so scared. You must think me the biggest baby. Here I am, so proud of myself for running away only to be afraid of the first danger that comes along. And I would always handle myself so well in the towns."

"You knew he was bad," I said, sitting down next to her and stroking her hair. "I saw that much in your eyes."

"Is he the one Grace is meeting? Are you sure?"

"It makes sense and he certainly reacted!" I sighed and watched the horse who was now chomping at some weeds. "I wish I only knew why."

"You still aren't going to make me go back, are you?"

I probably should, but I didn't want her in that household anymore than she wanted to be there. And now that the danger was passed the woods were peaceful and green, the perfect example of how woods should be. They seemed the perfect thing to run to. "No, we'll stay here tonight."

"And the ball?"

I smiled. "Christine, I made you a dress."

Her mouth fell open. "You made me a dress?"

"I want you to wear it. It's beautiful. You'll be beautiful in it."

"I can't go."

"You don't think you deserve to go?"

"No. I would go if I could. I'd love to be there."

"You're finally being honest with me."

Christine drew her knees into her chest and plucked some grass to twist in her fingers. "I have a question."

I nodded.

"It's… it's about my father. Probably the last thing you want to hear about." She shook her head. "I'm sorry. He's the reason I can't go. I can't go to something like that after what he did. Not when I carry his name. What he did…" Her face fell into her knees as the tears came. "I can't stand what he did. I can't. All those years I thought he loved he, that he was good." She choked back a sob. "So my question is, do you think he loved me at all? Could someone like that…? I'm sorry, it's such a selfish question."

"No, it's not," I said quickly. "Not at all." And I knew then why Bernard was here. It wasn't for me, not fully. "Christine, he did everything because he wanted what was best for you. I know he loves you."


	20. Hearth

We spent the night in the woods. I wondered if Christine had never done such a thing. It was an entirely novel situation for me, and enjoyable. A night under the stars probably struck some as more ideal in notion than in reality, but for me it was pleasant. The weather was good and the sky was clear. I fashioned up a blanket for Christine, and she fell asleep staring up through the branches at the stars. I sat by her, waiting. For what, I didn't know. But I was calm, something I had not properly felt in some time. Perhaps that was the nature of the woods. God's creation, as Christine and I had discussed. Short of some wild beast or that freak of Grace's, Christine was safe and I was capable of handling either threat. And so the hours passed, darkness settling upon the trees and the life of the night making its way out. I strangely felt a part of it all, the way the foxes darted from their holes and the owls hunted.

And yet, what was I doing here? I loved the world. I loved everything I did in it. I had not thought of sadness or missing anyone—not really, not in a painful way—until I had stumbled into Christine. Was I to learn some lesson besides who had orchestrated my death? It was not as if I had demanded an explanation or suffered. But the situation was indeed so curious that I had to wonder the simple question of why.

I finally left Christine at the foot of the tree where we had decided to camp. She would be safe, but I did not sleep and I was restless. There had been no sign of the man since we had fled, and I didn't worry. So I took to wandering the trail.

The trail was clear. As a princess I would have imagined it practically invisible, but my eyes and my appreciation for these little things had grown since my death. These were not the haunted woods of stories but merely trees well-known to everyone around. And somewhere through them was Wyatt's cottage and past that the old chapel where he came to speak to me. A strange sort of prayer, but I had felt flattered just the same. It was the cottage I wanted to see.

I wasn't sure how I found it, but within an hour it was in front of me, dusty and dirty and about to collapse. It was beautiful. I stopped at the door and breathed in deeply the scent of the crumbling wood and the dust and junk that filled it. The door opened with ease, but faint light met my eyes.

Dying embers glowed humbly from the fire grate. There, wrapped in fine wool blankets at the hearth, lay Wyatt, fast asleep.

My first thought demanded to know what on earth he was doing there. Hadn't I just seen him hours ago at the palace, all the proper prince? Idiot. He had no attendant, just himself in the same woods where roamed a stranger with a very large hunting knife. Yet with a smile I knelt down next to him. He was unshaven and his hair was a mess. I ran my hand through it, feeling the fine texture thrown into tangles. My fingers slipped from his hair into his face, scratchy to the touch. He had aged well, I again observed. He was always going to be handsome. No wonder Christine was so infatuated with him. What girl wouldn't be? I brushed my fingertip over his eyelid then brought my mouth down to his.

So many years had passed since I had kissed him. My body was dead, was this even a real kiss? And was it a real kiss if he were asleep and so unaware of me? Yes, it was, I knew that much. I still loved him. My lips rested there, dwelling on Wyatt's warmth. Yes, I loved him. I would have married him. That had not happened, but I still loved him. Thank God that had not been taken away.

I sat back, feeling ever so scandalous. A perfect contrast to just thinking about God, but I thought He wouldn't deny me a kiss. Still I felt like a little girl, sneaking about kissing boys—not that I had never done such a thing. It was a wonderful feeling.

But then Wyatt stirred.

Oh, but I could not think straight! But it was clear that appearing as me in the middle of the night in the middle of the woods would not be all right. So I changed to Angel, the lovely little messenger girl. What she was doing in the middle of the woods in the middle of the night I didn't know, either.

Wyatt blinked confusedly and sat up. I huddled up against the hearth and stared with the frightened eyes I imagined a real servant girl named Angel would use.

"I'm so sorry, Your Highness," I said breathlessly. "I didn't mean to disturb you. I was lost and I found this cabin and… I'm sorry." Angel was quite a dimwit. How could she get lost in these woods?

"That's… that's all right. I think." Wyatt pushed the blanket away. Thankfully he had slept in his clothes. "I know you."

"I brought you letters," I said. "My name is—"

"Angel. Yes. I know you."

"Do you wish me to leave?"

He shook his head. His hair was a disaster. "No, no. Stay until morning. I'll even attend you to your home. Sadly I know where it is."

I laughed nervously.

"I didn't mean to scare you," Wyatt continued. "I just had the oddest dream. It was so real it awoke me. Have you ever had a dream like that?"

"Yes. I think everyone has at some point, Your Highness. Were you falling?" I tried to sound shy, but I found myself desperate for his answer.

He shook his head again, this time with a smile. "No, actually. I was being kissed."

My heart leapt. "Kissed?" I giggled. Why did I giggle?

"It's a very long story. You must be tired, Angel. Here, have these blankets. I'll make another bed for myself outside and let you have the hearth."

"Your Highness, I couldn't possibly—"

"It's a warm night, it will be fine." He stood up and deftly folded the blankets and handed them to me. Our fingers touched as he did so. He gave no reaction, and I tried not to show mine.

"I'm wide awake now," I said. "I don't mean to press, but… if you would like to tell the story, I would be happy to listen."

He sighed. I knew his face. He wanted to talk.

"You've talked to me before," I urged.

"You're right." He sat back down. "I told you about Princess Fawn, didn't I?"

I loved it when he said my name. "Yes."

"She was the one in my dream."

I wanted to jump into his arms and kiss him all over again. Instead I said "The one who kissed you."

"Yes. It was a wonderful dream. I still dream about her now and then, of course, but this was so real. Perhaps because you entered the cottage. I know that presences can affect dreams. But she has been on my mind lately. You've probably heard about the approaching ball. It goes with my coronation, and frankly my father expects to use the ball to help me find a queen."

"So Princess Fawn would be on your mind."

He laughed. "It's very stressful. I will have to find someone Fawn would have liked, if that makes any sense to you. It's why I came out here. The next few days and nights will be nothing but ball preparation and this place was always important to me. I had hoped to take Fawn to it one day. I guess I needed one night to clear my head. So that's how you have found your prince."

I wondered if he had found the note I had left. But he gave no mention of it. "So you will need to find a girl of noble blood that your princess would have liked?"

"Not necessarily," he said quickly. "I mean, not a girl of noble blood."

"Why?"

He was speechless for a moment, then shook his head. "Oh, no reason. There are many fine families who are not technically noble."

"Are you in love with anyone?"

He was silent, staring at the hearth. 

"I'm sorry. I ask too many questions and I overstep my bounds. I was just curious."

"I don't know."

I found myself scooting closer. "You don't know, Your Highness?"

He locked eyes with me. "Have you ever been in love with anyone, Angel?"

I nodded.

"Was it instantaneous?"

I nodded, then shook my head. "That's a very difficult question. I will have to answer no. I liked the person I loved immediately the first time I saw them and it certainly became love quite quickly."

"Well, that's how I feel about someone now. I'm not in love, but… I think I could be. I'm intrigued with someone. Fascinated. And yes, I think I feel very deeply about her."

I laughed.

He did as well. "You're enjoying this?"

"Well, Your Highness, you being you and all, what you say is very exciting to hear."

He laughed again. "Glad to hear I'm idolized."

"Do I know her? Or is she a princess or a daughter of nobleman? Or am I not allowed to ask?"

He sat a moment, arms resting on his knees. He did not look displeased at my questions. "You seem so familiar to me, Angel, and not just because we've spoken before. It's everything about you. I like you. I'm comfortable around you, more comfortable than I am with most people I've known for years."

"Your Highness, you're not considering being in love with me, are you?" I meant it in jest, but a tiny part of me demanded to know his answer.

"I won't deny that it could eventually be a possibility," he said with a grin. "But no. But I will tell you because I trust you."

Even though right now I was Angel, the tiny part of me couldn't help but be upset. And somehow the rest of me thought it was a wonderful game.

"It's someone you work with, I believe. Christine Davrel."

It was horrible. I laughed. Giddily. I laughed in celebration of Christine. I was thrilled, yet a corner of my heart cracked. I enjoyed the pain. "Christine?"

He nodded, blushing.

"She's beautiful and exciting. You know that."

"I do. She is both."

"Has she spoken of me?"

I nodded. "Not inappropriately, Your Highness. But she has spoken of you slightly more than anyone else might speak of the Prince."

He sighed happily and ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to straighten it. It was all in vain. "Look at me. Gossiping and burrowing for information like a child. I'm far too old for this. Angel, thank you for listening. Good night." He stood up and headed to the door.

I let the image of Angel stay as long as I could. Then I closed my eyes and put myself outside the cottage. The dark night, the path, the trees. Just far enough away to escape.

But not as Angel.

So he did care for Christine. And I had played the game with him to figure that out. And I was happy. But I could make my own game. Maybe it was a stupid thing to do, but I honestly could think of no bad reason to do it, not at the distance I did it.

There I was. Me. Fawn. Standing far enough from the cottage that he could not run to me, not even be sure it was I if he even thought of me at all. Me, just a faint figure in the night.

I watched his eyes fall nonchalantly over the trees in passing, then widen as they fell upon the distant figure of me. He wasn't sure. I could see that. How could he be sure? I was faint, it was dark, and I was nine years dead. But for a few moments he was still and staring save for his lips opening for a single word: my name.

And then I vanished.


	21. Cleaning

The next I walked through town in hopes of hearing… I don't know what I hoped to hear. Mention of me? Why would Wyatt be running around declaring that information? He must have thought that he was dreaming, that little Angel had left early before he had awoken… something. My Wyatt was a logical man, but I could only hope.

All the buzz was instead on the upcoming ball. Of course it was. A new king would be crowned and practically everyone would swarm into the royal palace to see it. Prince Wyatt would be a great king, everyone said. He was perfect for it, already ran so much on his own. It was only natural that he should take the crown and make it official. He would be wonderful.

Apparently everyone loved him.

Of course they loved him. Who wouldn't love him?

I considered going to the palace, perhaps as Angel, and finding him. Would that be proper? Probably. Apologize for the rudeness of the night before of stumbling into his own personal cottage and then showing plenty of gratitude for his kindness. I considered it for awhile, actually, before making my way up.

I was greeted at the gate, but was told Prince Wyatt was off hunting, had been all night.

That was all the terror I needed, though I like to think I would have known if something had happened to Wyatt. Though with that odd man about and my own personal worries of life in the woods it wasn't unthinkable. Perhaps I worried too much. What trouble could be afoot in these woods? Wyatt had told me all about them, how he used to play in them all the time. The answer was simple. He had not returned home from the cottage. That was all.

Even so I put myself there. A blink of my eyes and I was standing in the cottage. The blankets Wyatt had loaned Angel had vanished, so he had come for them, and a thin bed of ashes lined the hearth.

"Wyatt," I muttered.

I walked outside. No sign of him. Just the quiet hum of the morning woods, a beautiful sight. Nothing could be wrong on a day like that.

The church was my next thought. I put myself there next. And I was right.

He was not alone in the church. A few worshippers dotted the pews, intensely avoiding looking at Wyatt. What was a prince doing in a humble chapel like this? It had to be quite the exciting notion for them. Wyatt sat in the back, hands clasped and head bowed. He was a mess, though his station as prince and soon-to-be-king shown through. He had to be recognized still. He would be all the more royal with a bath and clean clothes. But he was safe. I really must have terrified him last night.

Not sure what else to do, I took to wandering the church. Man-made things as they were, they were still holy and sacred, a middle world between earth and heaven. And this was a lovely example despite age having got to it. The wood was good, strong, and well-cut, joints well-fastened. Yes, humble, but well-made, and it constantly smelled of pine. Was there no better scent on earth than pine? It was fresh, it was clean, it was eternal. Such an appropriate wood for building a church. No gaudy ornate decorations littered the place. It had a pulpit, analter, pews, all the necessities. The windows, I noticed, were cut in the shapes of leaves. Amazing.

I would have been glad to marry him in this church. I said a prayer to bless the place and left.

I waited outside awhile. Somehow I felt better outside, though the church had been wonderful, special even. Why Wyatt liked it was evident. But outside the church was just as lovely, just as well-formed. It was the picture-book example of a church.

Wyatt's horse stood tied, packs resting on its back. Good animal. I petted her head. She seemed to notice and respond happily.

Then I wondered if Christine had made off on her own horse while I was out pining for Wyatt. And to think I had been doing such a good job. She still couldn't be seen, I had taken care of that. Now the question was if she were running about invisible. Oh, but the fun she would have with that.

But I found her where I had left her, sitting against a tree, reading a book of all things. For that I adored her. She looked up as I appeared. "You're back. I thought you had abandoned me."

"I thought about it," I teased. "I actually would have been gone longer but I thought you would run off."

"I thought about that." She closed the book and set it down. "You can't expect me to stay out here forever."

"Till the ball. The days are counting down. Four days until the ball. You can wait that long, unless you want to go back."

"To Melissa's? No, thank-you. You went into town today. Did you hear anything? About me?" She leaned forward, grinning, eager to hear of her own gossip.

"No. Either Melissa has told no one or no one cares in view of the ball."

"I am excited for the ball, Fawn," she said shyly. "I know I've been terrible at admitting it, but I am. I want to see my dress, but I guess that is going to have to be a surprise, too."

"I think it would be more fun that way. Are you sure you don't want to live out here? It's charming." I half-joked. I had little intention of keeping my charge outdoors in the elements, but if it were necessary, it was not such a bad idea.

Christine nodded and rolled her eyes. "I'm sure. I have a better idea. Prince Wyatt's old cottage."

I had told her nothing of my night at the cottage. "Really? That old thing?"

"It should suffice for a few days, shouldn't it? It's filthy, it needs to be cleaned." She stood up. "Come on. I'm sure I can get us back there." Before I could say anything she was jumping on her horse and trotting off.

Well, worse ideas had existed, and the more I thought about it the more I realized it was the perfect solution. And if Wyatt appeared again, so be it, probably all the better.

The cottage was surprising to see despite having seen it only minutes before. I believe it was because of Christine's presence, her delight in arriving. She tied up her horse on a tree near some grass and spun around in giddy thrill.

"I'm back here! Again! I didn't think I would love it so much after a day!"

"Are we going to clean it?" I walked inside and immediately threw open all the windows. Light spilled into the cottage, complete with disgusting columns of dust.

"Yes!" she replied in a sing-song voice. Then I heard the distinct sound of fabric ripping.

"What are you doing out there?"

"Making rags. I hate this dress."

"Christine, you have me to clean for you," I said as I stepped out. She was not yet immodest, just set on destroying the hem of the skirt.

"I don't want you cleaning for me. You can help me, but I will be doing the cleaning, thank-you very much. Now, please go find some water or something handy."

I sighed and made a full jug appear in my arms. "This is how I make myself handy."

"I know. Magic must get boring that way. I'm so sorry." But she dipped her rag into the jug and walked into the cottage. "Wow, we're going to be doing a lot of work here."

And so that was how the rest of the morning passed. Scrubbing, with me providing the materials. Which I was happy to do, though the girl who had spent too long as an angel itched to just snap my fingers and be done with the place. But Christine was against it. To her, cleaning was suddenly a pleasure, something that she alone could do. Why not? She had spent years being forced to do it and she had developed a talent. Why not take pride in it when she wasn't being enslaved? She had me create her a broom, which she then used to kick out a storm cloud of who dared to know what out the front door. It became a game, that sweeping, of me dodging the clouds and then taking the broom from her and showing what was what. We both wound up filthy, but the floor at least was dust-free. The mopping that followed was an even worse disaster.

But our cleaning disasters worked. Cobwebs were pulled from the corners, the ceiling was cleaned, and the inside glistened as best it could. We even cleaned out the hearth in a sooty mess. But it was fun. Wonderful. And the cottage looked great.

"I'm starved," Christine said as soon as the last wave of muddy water was struck from the house. "I never even ate breakfast. Or dinner last night, for that matter."

"Want me to make you something?" I asked.

She shook her head. "I want real food, not angel food."

"What are you going to eat?"

"I was actually thinking of going into town and getting something."

"By that you mean stealing."

"No, no. I told you I had money. I'm going to be done with stealing. I promise." She put a hand over her heart. "My second plan was gathering. There has to be something to eat out here that isn't poisonous…"

"You know some?" I asked as she began raking through the bushes.

"Well, no, but I thought we could figure it out."

"By what? Testing them to see if you die or not? Let me just-"

We stopped as something moved in the distance. A horse.

"It better not be that man again," Christine muttered.

"He didn't have a horse," I replied. I stared until I finally caught a glimpse.

Wyatt. He was back. Did he ever go back to that palace of his? I took the charm from Christine. She was now visible. "It's the Prince," I whispered.

"What?"

But by then Wyatt was coming through on horseback, pulling the reins to a stop. "Christine!"

She curtsied.

"What a pleasure to see you." He laughed. "It seems this cottage is a less private than I thought it was. What are you doing here? Are you.. cleaning?"

Christine stared down at her dress. Her filthy and torn dress. "Yes. I'm sorry, but you keep this place a mess for a place you claim to care so much about."

"You just cleaned this cottage all by yourself?" He climbed down from the horse. "This is what you've been doing? Did Angel help you?"

"Angel?" She was good enough not to glance in my direction, not that I could be seen. "Oh, she…"

"She spent the night here, if she told you that."

"She did. Poor thing. Came back, said you were very kind."

"I'm glad. She left early. I'm amazed I didn't hear her wake up and leave. She arrived home safely?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"And then you come here?"

Christine smiled and shrugged. "She also mentioned the place was not fit for rats to sleep in. She can be brutally honest that way. So I came here as soon as she said that."

"But she wasn't here to help you?"

"She had work to do, I'm afraid. But I managed to sneak out."

Wyatt laughed "That's very kind of you. I should have cleaned it years ago, but I never thought I would be using it that much. Yet I sleep her last night, I find myself coming back this way again… and then to find the surprise of a clean cottage waiting for me." He walked across the ground and stepped into the cottage. "It's amazing!"

"Yes, amazing what a little work can do," she said, following him in.

"I don't know how to thank you."

She paused a while as I slid in behind them. "I have a request."

"Anything for you, Christine." He sat down in one of the freshly polished chairs.

"Would you consider letting me stay here?"

He stood up again. "Why?"

I put my hand to my face. Oh, no, Christine.

"I'm not going back to Lady Melissa's."

"I thought that was your home."

"Let it be her home. I don't care."

He watched her for a long time. She did not move under his gaze. "Of course you can stay here, if that's what you want. But… I could help, if you would let me. You could be up at the palace, you know. Not as a servant, but as my guest. It would be the best thing for you."

Her eyes flashed, and I thought she would be rude, but she spoke well. How could I have doubted her? "Prince Wyatt, you are very kind, but I won't have your charity."

"Then what will become of you?"

"I'll manage. Believe me, I will hold you to your offer if need be. But right now, I'm happy as long as you don't give me away."

"You mean you don't want me throwing you on the back of my horse and towing you back to your stepmother and a court?"

"I would prefer it to be done on the horse I brought."

"Did you steal that as well?"

She laughed. "If it's my home as you said, then it wasn't stealing."

Wyatt laughed as well, and sat back down in the chair. "I can't leave you out there. You're hardly more than a child. This is no place for you. What are you planning on eating?"

"I haven't planned that far ahead."

And once more he was up, this time pacing the room. "You must be starving!"

Her smile faded.

"I was hunting. I caught some rabbits. I'll cook them up for you."

"You know how to do that?"

Wyatt was already out the door. Christine and I followed.

"You'll have to build a fire," he said. "Or I will. You've already done too much." He pulled two rabbits from a pouch, fat strong things.

"Are you prepared to skin those?" Christine asked.

"Why wouldn't I be? I brought a knife for that, to be on the safe side. Just in case I fail to return when I'm supposed to. Like this."

"I never imagined a prince would know how to do such things."

But he did. Soon the rabbits were skinned and butchered and roasting over a fire he himself had built. The delicious smell filled the room. Wyatt and Christine sat before it, so similar to how he had sat with me last night.

"You spend a lot of time out here, don't you?" Christine asked.

"Not really," he replied with a shrug. "But on occasion I go through these moments when I just have to be outside. I think it's good for the soul to be outdoors."

"Does it make you feel closer to Fawn?"

He smiled. "It's funny you should ask that. It does."

"Do you think she's around? If you believe in that? Watching you?"

He sighed and turned to her. "Last nigh, I thought I saw something. Maybe it's what you say. It was just outside, at least, I was just outside. And I thought I actually saw her in the distance. I hate to say it was just my imagination. I like what you suggest. Yours is better."

"Of course it is."

I left at that point. I feared it was going to be the exact same conversation I already had with him.


	22. Ready

_Short, yes, but the past few chapters have been monstrous._

* * *

The days passed this way. The palace and city were certainly going mad with the mystery of Prince Wyatt and his disappearances. Christine remained in the cottage, and each day Wyatt would bring her food. They would eat together, talk, laugh. Sometimes I listened in. They spoke of books. Apparently Wyatt was reading more. Just to have something to talk about with her?

I was happy for them. I really was.

I also hated them for it.

And then as that hate was happening I would once again become thrilled over what I saw. This was all because of me. My precious work. I almost wished Bernard could come see it.

But Bernard was nowhere. At least, nowhere that I could see. I imagined he remained invisible, watching out of the shadows. I did not know the rules for him.

But if all went well, his daughter would indeed become a princess.

I did not go into town. I did not return to Melissa's house. And I did not see anywhere in the woods the strange man who had been meeting with Grace. I still thought of him, though. I wanted to know who he was. But as the days passed, I thought less and less of him, until he was merely a figure I watched for from the corner of my way without a conscious thought.

The cottage was fine without Wyatt. Christine was just as happy. She and I found projects to do. We exchanged our little knowledge of the forest, but examined enough things on walks that we supposed we could make our own book if we actually knew the names of the things we saw.

And then it came. The day of the ball. Without warning, the sun rose one day and it was the day Wyatt would become King.

Wyatt had told Christine he couldn't come that day, though he had made her promise to attend the ball. She had, like a simpering little girl, agreed.

And I had smiled. I had no other choice but to smile. As much as I wanted to be the one going to the ball, the sight made me smile. It was all very confusing for me.

I felt more excited for the ball than Christine, actually. After all, she was going to wear the dress I had created. I spent the day describing it to her, over and over again, and by this time she was giddy enough to become absorbed by the idea of the dress, though I knew she couldn't believe it's beauty until she saw it. She even wanted to follow me back to Melissa's house, but I couldn't allow that. She had been gone for days. Who knew what the crazy women would do upon seeing her again?

When I entered the house, invisible, I didn't hear any mention of Christine. They were preparing themselves for the ball. Melissa orchestrated the whole thing as if her daughters had already been proposed to.

When had it been commanded that Wyatt pick a bride at this? Like a man about to be crowned King would be worrying about wedding plans.

Still, I couldn't resist to peek in and see just what Grace and Amelia were wearing.

Amelia selected pink, and I had to admit it suited her. Lace fringed it, and the skirt was wide. It was girlish and pretty, but very romantic and even sudductive.

Grace's ankle was still out of commission, but apparently still planned to attend the ball. She wore a pale green. I did not like it as much as I liked Amelia's, but it also suited her, and at least covered up her leg.

How silly of me, spying and even approving of other girls' dresses.

Still, the one I had created for Christine was the best. It remained in the little room, untouched, the slippers still glinting.

Everyone would be out-shown by my dress. And Christine.

Christine jumped for joy when she was the dress. "It's beautiful, Fawn!" she exclaimed as she gently ran a hand down the skirt. I've never worn yellow. Do you think I'll look good in it?"

"I know you will," I insisted. "I made it especially for you. Try it on. How well did I make the fit?"

"And if you didn't?" She was already pulling off the thing that looked like rags in comparison.

"Then I'll fix it with a snap!"

The dress fit her perfectly, as I had expected. And she looked even more beautiful than I had expected.

She laughingly spun in circles through the small cottage room, dress spinning like a perfect candle glow around her. "I've never had such a dress."

"Wyatt will love you in it."

She stopped spinning and looked at me, still smiling. "Thank-you. So much, Fawn." She hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. "I know what this means to you."

I hugged her back. "I'm happy for you. I want you both to be happy."

She next tried on the slippers. She gasped. "They're comfortable! I thought they'd be painful!" Even in the shadows of the cottage they gleamed. "They're like glass!"

I did her hair. Without magic. Mostly.

The sun was already setting by the time she was ready. She no longer looked like Christine. She looked brave. But Christine was brave.

She smiled shyly as I gazed at her. "Do I look all right?"

I quickly fashioned a mirror from the air and showed her. That was the happiest I had ever seen her.

Suddenly I did hope Bernard was somewhere watching.

I then took the horse, the sturdy thing she had stolen, and wondered just what I could do with him.

Christine insisted on simply washing and brushing him. It turned out that was all he needed to prove himself a very handsome horse. Though I did create a saddle for him. Something noble and expensive looking.

And then we were off. Through the woods, through the fields, through the city, to the glowing palace.

"Remember," I whispered to Christine. "Tell no one who you are." I doubted her stepfamily would recognize her.

She nodded.

It didn't matter. The most important one already knew who she was.

A servant took the horse, and led Christine into the palace.


	23. Ball

I had long before accepted the fact that my ball had never happened. There wasn't much to accept there, my ball merely having been one of the many perks of an engagement and wedding. Balls and dances and their social ilk never had held much attraction for me. But I could not deny there was something dazzling about them. At least, dazzling about this particular ball. I stared on from the shadows, and it would have been a lie to say that my heart was not in its own way thrilled and pounding. No wonder so many girls had gone giddy at the mere mention of the ball. The lit palace sapped at the mind and then filled it with the same light that streamed from the windows. Music of the orchestra, carried by the night breeze, intentionally struck the ear and whispered all sorts of ideas into it. And the people! The crowds of people, theoretically the entire city (though I highly doubted everyone came), talking and laughing and flowing into the mass infectious madness.

For a moment I had no idea who I was. The moment sense returned I carefully plucked that sensation and tucked it away for later for my own personal enjoyment. Now was the time to be focusing upon Christine. She looked the happiest I had ever seen her, like a child being put on her first pony, her hand lightly touching that of her attendant.

I had done well. Her dress was the finest there, at least that I could see, and I had no intention of properly examining the other dresses for a real comparison. As far as I concerned no other dress was as beautiful or anywhere close and it was going to remain so in my mind. Her dress reflected every beam of light that fell upon it until she was blinding. Gazes fell upon her, lingering longer than the average passing glance, and smiles of appreciation and even jealousy appeared in those many eyes.

Oh, I had done well.

Invisible, I joined the flow of the crowd and entered the palace.

So it was the royal family had a ballroom. I wondered how often Wyatt used it or even thought of it. That night, however, there was no other room in the palace. It smelled of recent cleaning, scrubbing and polishing that must have left dozens of servants grateful for their beds that night, a pure scent that no amount of perfumed guests could cover. The walls were gilded, lined with primly potted flowers, and seemed almost alive. I was sure it was the effect of dazzle, but who cared?

Christine did not look a thing like Christine. She was another girl entirely. The town had seen her only as a servant of Melissa, striding through town with her wild hair and eyes. She was a lady now, and she carried herself like one. She entered the room, smile taking up her entire face, and I knew she had immediately become an intention of many men there. I could hear her laughing as she accepted her first dance.

"She's beautiful."

I turned around to find the person I was not surprised to see there. "Hello, Bernard."

His appearance was less dim, his hair a little neater, his eyes completely on his daughter. "You did well with her. This is always what I imagined for her."

I still despised his presence, but the harsh anger did not exist anymore. "I'm so glad my death made it possible." All right, so I could still not resist a small chide.

His smile was grim. "And for that I suffer. You've spoken to him, though, haven't you? Prince Wyatt."

I nodded. "Of course I have."

"He's a very good man. I was wrong to make my Prince suffer."

I decided not to reply to that.

Bernard continued, the whirling form of Christine on the dance floor never leaving his sight. "He cares for Christine, though. I don't think even with all I've done that I ever really expected that. I had hoped, I had fantasized, I had plotted, as well you know, but I never expected it."

"Did you love her mother?" I asked.

With that question his smile warmed. "I loved her more than I ever loved Melissa. Far more."

"I can't comprehend how you could have ever cared for Melissa." I knew it was a stupid thing to say. Who was I to judge what others felt? Did I have the only claim upon love? Love was the only good thing so many people knew. I was half-surprised I wasn't struck down for my words.

"I know how you see her now. Cruel, conniving. I suppose she always was. But to me she was exciting. Beautiful, interesting, darker than the typical good woman of the household. I'm a historian, I deal with the messy as well as the good. The messy makes things exhilarating. But she has lost people, too. Her husband. Me. She loves her daughters and wants what's best for them. She isn't entirely incapable of love no matter what you think. Forgive me, but I would have expected an angel to know more."

"I do know more. I suppose I was just asking a personal question. Your response was too good for me."

He laughed. "Maybe I'm learning."

I found myself laughing, too. "Maybe you are."

The ball continued. It was a wonderful chaos of color and pure joy. No wonder so many people loved the things. I soon found Wyatt, handsomer than I had ever seen him. He always had cleaned up well. His parents, seeming as relaxed as a couple on the verge of retirement should look, joined in the dancing, slower than the guests, enjoying simply each other.

Wyatt danced, too. Of course he danced. It was his coronation ball and he was expected to dance. And he looked like he enjoyed it. He talked with the blushing women, moved them gracefully, and did an excellent job of making it look like he was not looking for someone else entirely.

But I could see them. I had full view of the ballroom. Christine and Wyatt moved almost in sync, slowly making their way towards each other with each dance partner until to the untrained eye it seemed only natural that Christine would be the next partner of the Prince.

I knew he recognized her. He was the only one who possibly could. His invitation to her did not seem out of the ordinary. No pause, no extra smile meant only for her. She was merely the next lovely girl lucky enough to dance with the soon-to-be-King. And for her part Christine was just as demure. The smile etched on her face was no different from any other girls. She was smart enough to not even wink at him as she graciously accepted his hand.

Why was I so adamant no one recognized her? I thought about it as I watched them dance and decided it was partially logical. I wasn't sure what fit Melissa and her daughters would throw at the sight of her. But the rest of it was a game, one that appealed to my ridiculous obsession with story. I wanted her to be mysterious, I wanted her to be an enigma. It was fun that way.

Next to me Bernard let out a long breath. "Here it is," he said. "You've done it. She's with him."

"And just when do you hope he'll propose?"

He did not reply for a long time, but his eyes sparkled as he watched his daughter and Wyatt. "This is all I wanted for her. I don't care what happens next."

I wondered if that meant the end of trying to kill Grace.

The song ended, and Wyatt and Christine stopped their dance. Their parting was near seamless, but I detected the briefest wait time as their hands unclasped.

I was sure they would make their ways back to each other shortly.

Somehow, I did not feel jealous.

I soon spotted Grace lounging upon a cushioned chair next to her mother. She did look beautiful, and her injury was working to her advantage. Already she had several young men about her. She laughed and chatted with them, but her eyes were obvious in their search for someone else. Was she really hoping Wyatt would make his way to her side? Of course it would be the proper thing to do, but Wyatt had plenty of guests to greet. Far more than plenty.

Except… except somehow he had escaped.

Taking leave of Bernard I set out into the crowd.

Somehow Wyatt had managed to slip unnoticed from the ballroom. That, or his subjects were polite or distracted enough to let him be. I found him down the hall from the grand doors, wiping sweat from his brow and speaking with Evan.

"Does she know?" Evan asked. His tone was serious. Desperate, even. He was demanding something.

"I don't know," Wyatt replied. His ball-ready smile was gone. "I would think not, if I had to make a guess. She would have been a child then. What father would involve his little child in such a thing?"

"Can you even trust her?"

Dear protective Evan.

"I'd trust her with my life." Wyatt stared back to the ballroom.

"She could be plotting something."

Wyatt laughed at that. "And exactly what would she be plotting? You're being ridiculous. We can't prove a thing."

"Go to the house. Lady Melissa has to show you any documentation they have in there. Prove this claim!"

"No. Evan, the man is dead. He's been dead for years. I should let it go."

The desperation faded from Evan's face. "I think you're a fool, but I can't say part of me is not happy to hear that."

"And Christine is not her father." The sentence was final, and the hall rang with it.

Wyatt took a deep breath. "Speaking of fathers, I should probably get back in there."

I followed him back into the ballroom. He had found my paper. He knew. And he didn't care. I wasn't sure what to make of that. But he was right. Bernard was dead.

Re-entering the ballroom was like stepping back into a warm bath. I released the mindless delight I had reserved from earlier and breathed it in with full acceptance. This was a good night, a beautiful night, and it possibly meant my job here was nearly over.

Christine was in the arms of a man who looked all too delighted to be holding her. She herself looked all too delighted to be held. I was happy for her.

I could see Amelia about. Had she noticed Christine? How jealous of other women did women get in these situations? Having noticed her stepsister or not, she seemed to be having as marvelous a time as anyone else.

And Grace still had her suitors. I toyed with the notion they were men incapable of dancing who had found a loophole in the injured young woman.

But there was one among them… I blinked and raced back through my memories. Change the clothing, clean up the body, remove from a terrifying moment in the woods…

Grace's mystery man. From whom we had fled in the woods.

I stared.

She gazed at him like a simpering puppy, though I could not imagine why. He knelt at her side, her hands in his.

I moved closer. Did Melissa suspect anything? She wasn't the type to approve of her daughter involving herself with someone who stalked the forest.

But Melissa didn't seem to care one way or the other. She just seemed happy to have her daughter surrounded by men.

"Stay with me," Grace was saying. "I fell. I know you wanted to dance, but…"

"I can't give too much attention, Grace. You know I love you, but…" He shoved her hands away.

"Please!"

"I'll be back! We'll have much to discuss!"

"You're supposed to stay by me!"

But he stepped away with a smile doused in coldness, though I doubted Grace saw as much.

And then he stepped among the dancers, walking toward Christine.


	24. Kisses

Grace may have been having herself a little fling, but that very fling was heading toward my Christine. My eyes followed him, wondering what he was intending, whether or not I should panic. Grace let it go, squaring her arms in resentment before returning to her other suitors' attentions.

The hunter (for I was now thinking of him as such) was gallant, even handsome in his way. Would Christine recognize him? Would he recognize her? Though that latter question did not matter in light that he still gave her his attention. He bowed before her, perhaps one of the finest bows I had ever seen in form but yet maintaining churlishness.

I went closer.

"May I have this dance?" the hunter asked.

No recognition in Christine's eyes. "Certainly."

Should I stop her?

But off they went in the whirl of the dance. She was a wonderful dancer. Where had she learned the art? Though it appeared with her to be less skill and more natural talent.

Perhaps he was harmless. Useless to Grace, but otherwise harmless.

Wyatt had joined in the dancing with Amelia of all people in his arms. But his eyes were not on her but on Christine.

Jealously. I felt the delightful spark of it myself. This time on Wyatt's behalf.

"It's such a beautiful ball," Amelia purred, her voice floating to my ears over the crowd.

Wyatt scarcely seemed to hear her. "It is indeed."

The song ended and the next one began. Wyatt ended his dance with Amelia, who looked quite put out by that, and began to once more make his way toward Christine.

The hunter had let her go, though his eyes were still with her. Another gentleman took her next.

Without thinking I became Angel. A lovely Angel, with hair done up and a flowing blue dress. Nothing nearly as wonderful as the work I had done for Christine, but nice to say the least. I placed myself in Wyatt's path.

His smile at me was real. "Angel!"

I giggled and curtsied. "Your Highness."

Oh, but he was handsome. He looked at me with all the innocence of a little boy before sputtering out "Well, I suppose I'll have to ask you to dance now."

"I'd be honored."

His hand slid around my waist, fitting there so perfectly. His other took my hand. Angel was tinier than I ever was, and I nearly gasped at how small my hand felt in his fist.

I couldn't remember dancing with him before.

"Ideally, I suppose, I'm to ask every girl here to dance," Wyatt said conversationally as he danced. He was not too bad, and I followed along the best I could. Angels were not blessed with such an automatic talent. "I don't know if that's possible, unless this ball continues into the wee hours of the morning."

"I will just count myself glad to be among those that do get to dance with you!" I said with a laugh.

"It's an honor for me, Angel."

"Your Highness, I'm a servant."

He shrugged, smile broadening.

I suspected what he was thinking, and I could not help but smile myself. "Christine is a servant."

"She's also the daughter of a great historian."

"Higher blood than me."

"No. She is a servant now."

"I'm simply going to have to dance us closer to her for your sake, I see."

Wyatt laughed.

"I hear things, Your Highness." And I did not want the hunter coming back.

"May I ask you a question first, Angel?" he asked.

Anything to stay in his arms longer. I nodded.

"I've… heard something."

"That's not a question."

The smile was gone from his face. "I only ask this because I trust you, Fawn, and I know that you will not break that trust. What would you say if I told you I suspected Christine's late father was involved with Fawn's death?"

Just the question I had anticipated. I feigned shock. "What kind of question is that?"

"Keep your voice low," he commanded, though he was doing worse than I.

"Is it true?"

"I don't know."

"Do you want to find out?"

A pause. "I don't know."

"But you're all but infatuated with Christine! What do you think this means?"

Speaking of whom was not far from us.

Wyatt still held my hand tight. "You can't tell her I've heard this."

"She knows nothing. She was so young when her father died."

The tiniest smile reappeared on his face.

I studied that face. Such a handsome face, and he had bothered to shave. I wanted so badly to remove my hand from his shoulder and touch that face. "You need to dance with her."

"We're close enough. I'll be King within an hour or so. No one will be able to stop me."

"You'll still dance with her, then."

This time he squeezed my hand. "She excites me."

"Really?"

"I haven't felt like that since Fawn."

I continued to watch him.

He shook his head and sighed. "No, that's not right. It's different. It's completely different. What I felt for Fawn was different. This is different and it's different than what I feel for you and—" Color crept into his face.

"I'm sorry?" I asked.

"The song will end soon, Angel."

This time I couldn't help it. My hand flew up of its own accord and touched Wyatt's cheek. He was so warm. He did not flinch at my touch, but… "Christine is very beautiful tonight."

His gaze left me and went to Christine.

And then it was back, like lightning. My errant hand returned to his shoulder. The last notes of the song fled the instruments.

"Thank-you for the dance, Angel."

The gesture was so brief I scarcely could trust its existence. He kissed me, quickly and gently. He then pulled away and stared at me.

"Wyatt," I said, no other phrase attached.

"I'm so sorry." He dropped my hands and stepped away. "I should not be so presumptuous, especially after talking about another girl."

I put on my best smile. That was easy. I was glowing inside. "I'm flattered. I've stolen a kiss with the soon-to-be-King."

He smiled, face warming with relief. "I'm glad, then."

I breathed in deeply and let it all out. The smile could not be cut from my lips. "Well, then. You're in practice. Go!"

"You're sure I haven't insulted you?"

"Hardly! Go! You'll have to fight away other suitors for her!"

He backed away, grinning like a madman."

I could not explain it. That one short dance, that tiny kiss, was all I needed. The intoxication of the entire ball could not rival what I felt. Like fire it pumped through me, thrilling me, as I watched Wyatt all but force himself over to Christine.

No one would dare contradict the Prince, and Christine looked as if she could melt.

Probably looking ridiculous, I made my way over to the wall. A silly grinning servant girl who happened to be a dead princess.

The hunter had rejoined Grace, and her corner of admirers had been cleared. She must have said or done something for even her mother had vanished. She had propped herself up as best she could, and the hunter's leg was pressed against hers, her hands in his.

"Are you sure?" he said.

I made myself invisible.

She nodded emphatically. Her eyes were shining as Christine's were. "I'm sure. I don't want it anymore. I want you."

"The kingdom, Miss Grace."

"I want you," she repeated. "He's barely spoken to me, only offered his sympathies. I was silly."

"You can't be sure."

"It would never work anyway. I love you."

He smiled and squeezed her hands.

"Don't you love me?"

"Grace, I do love you. Why have I stuck around so long? But this is what you wanted."

"Not anymore. Just let that girl go. The Prince can have her. I don't have to be Queen. The Prince cares nothing for me. You care for me."

"I do," the hunter replied, and I doubted his sincerity, though Grace was too starry-eyed to notice. "But what do you see in me?"

She laughed, and her voice became flirtatious. "You're exciting. Dangerous."

"A storybook character."

"Don't trust him," a voice whispered next to me. Bernard, though I could not see him.

"Exactly," said Grace.

"I never trusted him," I said to the voice of Bernard, wherever he was.

"He won't stay here with Grace."

"I must go, though," said the hunter. "I promised you."

"I release you from that promise," said Grace, but the hunter had already stood up.

How was I to stop him?

"Stop him!" Bernard's voice commanded.

I started after him, but there was not much I could do, even think of doing. Christine and Wyatt's dance had ended, and as they drew apart the hunter took his position. Another eager suitor, desperate to beat the prince in dances with this engaging young woman. Why could I do nothing? Was I not an angel?

Wyatt did not pick another partner. The ladies flocked around him, but he only watched Christine.

They were not dancing.

The hunter had her hand, as charming as imaginable, and led her toward the door.

The Pricking came. I was supposed to do something.

I bolted after them, caring little for the rush of people past me. But the Pricking was painful, insistent that something was wrong even then.

No. I couldn't let him leave with Christine.

I closed my eyes. God, what was I to do?

I opened my eyes. Like a single candle in a dark room all I noticed was Wyatt. Wonderfully, darkly jealous, no dance partner in sight, stomping the other direction.

Wyatt.

I changed directions and ran after him. He left the room through a small side door. For servants, I imagined. I became Angel. "Wyatt!"

He stopped and turned. The hall was dark, not a single light. "Angel?"

I could scarcely breathe. "What are you doing?" I demanded.

"I feel so stupid." He turned his back to me. "She's a servant. Possibly the daughter of a murderer."

"She had nothing to do with that."

"She leaves with someone else."

"That's because she can be an idiot," I said fiercely, taking his hand.

"I should have conquered her attentions for the rest of the night. Danced with no one else."

I laughed. He was not angry. Only jealous as I had expected. "Go after her."

"That would not be proper."

Propriety had nothing to do with it. "Wyatt, go after her."

He smiled wanly. "You instruct me as I'm not your prince."

If only he knew how right he was. "You love her."

"Possibly."

"Then go after her."

"That would be foolish." He shook his head. "Me. Worrying about the reputation of a common girl. What if she doesn't care for me? She enjoys this ball far too much. Leaving with a perfect stranger."

I wanted to smack him. How would that be in relation of my gentle touch of earlier? "She's in danger."

He snorted. "She is not. Nothing will happen to her. She'll receive a few stolen kisses and be back. And I'll dance with her again. Will that make you happy?"

"No."

He sighed. "I'm sorry, Angel." He turned to the ballroom.

No. It had to be him. All I felt was that it had to be him going after Christine and the hunter.

"Wyatt, stop!"

"What happened to 'Your Highness'?"

"Wyatt."

He finally turned.

In that moment the music slipped away into nothing but a drone in the distance.

I stared back at him, my light brown hair spilling in curls down my shoulders.

No longer Angel.

He shook, and for a moment I feared he would fall. "I…"

"Shh," I said.

For a long time he obeyed, time I should have used to make him listen.

"I saw you. I knew I saw you. Fawn."

I wanted him to say my name again. "I hoped you would have seen me."

"I don't understand," he whispered. "I'm dreaming."

I smiled. I hoped he would recognize my smile. "You need to go, Wyatt. Christine needs you."

"Fawn." His face was pale. I imagined he still thought he was dreaming.

I wanted so much to stay where we were, he and I, in that little servant hall. He had spoken my name, spoken it to me.

"I'm so sorry." He took a step towards me. "Fawn, I'm so sorry."

He was so close I could touch him. "I never blamed you." What was I doing? I had a universe of conversation for him. I could have spent eternity speaking it. "Listen to me. Go after Christine."

And I disappeared.

Wyatt stood in the hall, trembling. For a long time I did not know what he would do.

But he straightened and turned. And then he ran back into the ballroom and straight through it.


	25. Knife

I had not realized how late it was. Nearly midnight. All those hours wasted dancing around a floor chatting about things that hardly mattered. Yet the ball remained in full glory, not a sign of fatigue or sleepiness among the smiling guests in the entire room.

Amazing how I noticed them. In all I felt, in all that was happening, how odd it was that what I remembered was the gleam of the ballroom, the orchestra's instruments, the sound of laughter and chatter.

Of course I followed Wyatt. What sort of fairy godmother or guardian angel would I be if I did not?

How far had Christine allowed the hunter to take her? She could indeed be an idiot, but I trusted her to be much more sensible than that. They were not in the hall, nor anywhere surrounding the ballroom's entrance.

Outside. What could be more romantic than the privacy of the outdoors on the night of a ball? Balls were so crowded, and the midnight air all the more intimate. If the hunter were as smooth as he appeared around Grace those would be his exact thoughts.

And Christine? What would she be thinking?

I all but tumbled out the door. It was a beautiful night. Not a full moon, but waxing toward it in a sky heavy with stars. Romantic indeed.

Wyatt ran across the palace grounds. Did he see something I did not? With a prayer in my heart I ran after him. Behind me the sound of the ball still rang with all the power and charm of a bell, unaware of the world outside of it. Christine should be in there. Dancing, laughing, surrounded by more admirers than a single one.

At last I saw two figures, half-hidden in the trees. To the hunter's credit he had not taken her terrible far from the palace and still remained within the limits of a romantic excursion. One lay on the ground, held fast by force of the other. A knife lay in the grass, glinting from moonlight. Another strong arm reached for it.

Christine had fought back. Of course she would. The little ghost of a girl had knocked the knife from his hand, a single great triumph that lasted for a few brief moments. But it had been something. Good job, Christine.

"Stop!" Wyatt's voice broke through the trance of sound coming from the ball. He was soon there, the hunter stepping back from Christine.

"She attacked me, sir!" was his defense. "The little wench attacked me."

Christine stood up. Her beautiful dress was torn and dirty, her eyes wide with fright. A slipper had fallen off. "I did not attack him."

"Get inside," was Wyatt's command.

Christine nodded and ran fast.

"She lies, Your Highness," said the hunter. He was no longer as handsome as he had appeared in the ballroom. "She lured me out here, the vixen. She held the knife."

The size of the knife was impressive, and I scoffed at the very idea of the lie.

"In her gown?"

The hunter had no response. He stared at Wyatt, lips fumbling for something to say. Then he swooped down to the knife.

I screamed.

Both men turned.

The moment was selfish, as was the scream, but it was what I felt. All I could see was myself, in that lone hallway of my home, and the man above me. And the image changed to the present, a starlit night in a northern country, two men, another murderer. And I wished I had not screamed.

The hunter's movements were quick. He wasted no time on drama, realizing that the grounds were quiet save for a woman's scream and that despite the lack of guards in the area a scream would bring them soon enough. He had been noticed, he had been caught in a lie. So the knife met its mark.

No.

That was my prayer.

The knife sank into Wyatt's flesh, just under the ribs. Not the heart? I had to wonder at that. What was more painful? Or perhaps he had missed the heart unintentionally. Because of me? I felt the coolness of the metal, the sting of its cut, the rush of heat toward open night air.

I bit back my next scream as Wyatt sank into the ground with his own share of the pain.

The hunter wiped the blade on the grass. Then he fell. A hand had grabbed his ankle.

So childish, so unfair. Wonderful and brilliant. I ran to Wyatt's side. Blood spilled from his wound, but he was far from dead.

The hunter kicked, but Wyatt was strong and held tight. His other hand reached out toward the knife.

I plucked it from the hand of the hunter and placed it in Wyatt's hand. I was invisible. I was sure of it. I don't know what they saw, Wyatt took the knife without blinking, and the hunter kicked again, hardly registering his weapon was no longer his.

Wyatt was on his knees. He removed his hand from the hunter's ankle and pressed the knife against his throat.

"I came only for the girl," the hunter whispered. "Not you. You don't understand."

By that time guards had appeared.

* * *

I found Christine crying inside. Not in the ballroom, nowhere near it. I could not even hear the ball from her point. I'm not even sure how I found her. But there was Christine, weeping outright, hair disheveled, lovely dress a mess.

"I'm so sorry," she said to me. How she sensed my presence through her tears I did not know. "I didn't mean for anything to happen. I'm so sorry!"

I put my arms around her, and immediately my shoulder was soaked.

"I didn't think. I thought… I thought he wanted to talk. He just kept on walking until we were outside. Then he kissed me, so hard it hurt and…"

Oh, dear. "And?"

"Nothing else. I didn't know if he were trying or not, but I was scared. I hit him. Then he pulled out the knife…" The tears intensified. It was amazing she had been able to speak as much as she had.

I stroked her hair. It had ended well. She was safe. "It's all right. Everything's fine."

She nodded, but that did not stop the crying. I had not intended it to.

"He's been caught. Don't worry. The guards have him." I hoped the reassurance was enough. I did not want to mention Wyatt's injury. I still felt it. Just how much of it had I taken? Good thing I had already been murdered once.

"Fawn," came Bernard's voice. "Is it done?"

I gave Christine another tight hug and turned around. It was all of him this time, looking far brighter than I had ever seen him. He looked like he had the first time we had met. So kindly. I smiled. "Yes. I think so. Thank-you for the warning."

"I had to give it. Why wouldn't I give it?"

"You would never let your own child die, would you?"

He laughed. "Never. My business with you is now complete."

"The hunter?" I hoped he would know whom I meant.

"Grace bit off more than she could chew, playing for Queen. I'm only glad nothing happened to her." He looked at Christine. "May I?"

"Of course."

Bernard put his arms around his only daughter. He was invisible, possessed nothing physical that Christine would notice. But I hoped that some part of her would sense something. He held her tightly for a full minute.

And he was gone.


	26. Slipper

For days nothing happened. As of late I was not used to this. The ball ended with the news of the attack. A coronation ball simply could not be when the heir to the throne was injured. So all went home, Grace in tears.

I felt bad for Grace. She was an innocent girl, she could not know what she had gotten herself into, even if that innocence referred only to her heart. She had played a game she had not cared to finish.

I don't know how her mother or sister felt, and I didn't care. They could spend their lives wasting around the house. Perhaps Grace and Amelia would marry eventually—and well, if Melissa had anything to do with it. I honestly hoped they would be very happy, as one would expect someone like me to be, but I had no desire to see any of them again.

Maybe they were angry about Christine's disappearance. I didn't care, and neither did Christine.

She returned to the little cottage, and I attended her. It was a while before she could stop apologizing for her foolishness

"And now he's hurt," was her repeated refrain. "He's hurt because of me."

I tried to console her. Essentially, she was right, though essential was far from the true nature of the situation. I don't think she understood just how much he cared for her, that he would have followed her anywhere. At least, that was what I liked to think.

But eventually, she stopped crying and patiently waited for… what? She didn't seem to know and I could not guess. Wyatt was hurt, not dead—I had seen to that. It was hardly a case for mourning, and the rest of the city accepted the painful excitement of that night and waited for Wyatt to heal. I had never seen a city so enthralled with their prince and future king.

The hunter was thrown into prison to await trial. I wondered how Grace felt about that.

So the days passed quietly, and Christine kept herself busy. No one came looking for her. She kept the cottage neat, she even began the clearing of a garden for the spring, though I imagined the winter would do plenty of damage to it and why ever did she think she would be around for the spring?

"Who knows?" was her reply, given with a smile.

As for me, I felt I might as well leave soon, but the timing did not seem right. And I was happy to stay where I was. Then again, I had felt happy in so many other places. Maybe I merely wanted to see this place out.

I visited Wyatt many times. He was hardly the weak patient half the kingdom must have imagined him to be. The wound was messy, but not ugly, and he seemed to think he had more energy than his body did. I thought that a good sign. The coronation, of course, had been postponed, being that there was little drama in having a wounded man receive the crown, but Wyatt didn't care. Several times he asked about Christine, the beautiful girl he had followed outside. She was a memory who had stuck with many, but no one recognized her as Christine the servant girl, and Wyatt never mentioned her as.

I thought about revealing myself to him once more. Many times I almost did make myself visible, but always decided against it. Once was enough, probably more than enough.

But sometimes, as I hung around him, I saw him staring off into the distance, and I dare hoped he was thinking of me instead of Christine.

Finally, one night, after his bandages were changed and his chamber was empty, he spoke.

"Fawn, if you're there."

He did not look to where I was. How could he? I was invisible to him and I was going to stay that way. He did not look in my direction.

"What I saw that was not a dream. I know I saw you. Didn't I? And I saw you in the woods before."

So he hadn't thought me a dream.

"You looked beautiful. Even more beautiful than I remembered you. Sometimes I would think that my memory would glorify you, but my memory failed you."

I smiled at the compliment.

Maybe I should show myself. Maybe I should. He addresses me now, he would not be surprised.

But I had already done that. And he had gone after Christine.

"I haven't told anyone," he continued to the darkness. "I'm sure they would all think I was crazy or having a vision. But you were there. I know it was you. Angel." He gave a small laugh. "This entire time. And I had no idea. I should have known. Do you hate me for not knowing?"

No. Never.

"But maybe deep down, I did know. You as Angel. I felt a connection. A friendship. I could tell you anything and I was not afraid to. And when I kissed you on the dance floor that night… I felt something. That's why I stepped away. I think maybe then a part of me knew. And I was surprised. I didn't even think. I wasn't planning on the kiss. It just happened. Maybe it was supposed to happen. I'm so happy it happened."

He sighed. I could see his face in the dark. He was so, so handsome. I couldn't believe it. The man he had become. The King. He would be a wonderful king.

But now he did not think about becoming King. "We were supposed to get married. Fawn, if there were any way, I would marry you. I wouldn't think about anyone else. It would be you. I want you to know that?"

And Christine?

His thoughts were the same. "But I care for Christine, too. And I think you know that. You've known that all along."

It's supposed to be this way. I knew that for sure in that moment.

"Do you mind?"

Maybe if it were someone else.

"I love you. I always will."

"I love you, too." I don't know if I spoke aloud. If he heard, he gave no sign.

But I think he heard.

* * *

The coronation was a rather dull affair, filled up with all the pomp one would expect from such a ceremony. Many came, though it was not with the grandeur of the ball. And when it was done, Wyatt was King.

And as soon as he could possible do so, he was gone from the palace.

Somehow the rumor cropped up that he was hunting for the beautiful girl from the palace. He had found one of the slippers she had worn.

I don't know if everyone was thinking of the same girl, or if there were some legendary girl made up of imaginations. Still, I liked to think they all more or less referred to Christine. They spoke of a girl of dazzling beauty and dress, a nobleman's niece from out of the city, a foreign princess, a witch.

The rumor also suggested that the King Wyatt had no idea who she was or what she looked like, which I found hard to believe. But the fancy was that he would visit every household until he found the girl whose foot fit the slipper.

He did no such thing.

One morning Christine and I were reading to each other a book I had snatched from Melissa's house when Wyatt came up on his horse. I don't think he saw me, but his eyes were regardless on Christine.

She stared up at him and put the book down. "Your Majesty." Her voice was solemn, but I saw the grin on her face.

Wyatt climbed from his horse. "Christine."

"I'm sorry I missed the coronation," she said. She was on her feet then, smile wide. "I did not know when it was. And you failed to remind me."

He laughed. "I'm glad you weren't there. It was dull."

"For you. Maybe not for those watching."

"I spoke to them. Many assured me it was boring."

"Then I'm glad I missed it. How are you?" She nodded at his stomach. "I heard. I'm so sorry."

I hoped she wouldn't begin the tears again.

He touched the wound tenderly. "It still throbs now and then, but I'm alive."

"I shouldn't have gone out there," she said.

"I admit I would have preferred it if you hadn't. But I was happy to take this for you."

She laughed. "No, you're not."

"I mean, I would do it again. In a heartbeat."

The smile faded. "You would?"

He nodded. Then he pulled the glass slipper from his bag. "You left this."

"I can't believe you picked up my slipper when you were bleeding all over the place."

"Actually, someone else did. They just gave it to me later."

"I'm afraid I don't have the other one with me now," she said with another laugh as she took the slipper. She passed it from hand to hand, gazing at it.

I had done such a good job with it.

Wyatt stepped closer to her. "You were beautiful that night. Stunning."

She beamed. "Thank-you."

"I mean it. I don't understand how… I mean… the dress…"

"It's my secret."

"I think I know what it is."

She stared. "I…"

Would he bring me up? Was this the time?

I think he was thinking of it. I'm sure it was one of the main things on his mind.

But instead, all he said was "Please marry me."

* * *

The wedding was a glorious one. I wondered if it would have surpassed mine, but I no longer felt the jealousy. I just enjoyed the wedding. And the faces of Melissa and her daughters as they finally recognized the bride.

It was all so fitting, and I had never seen two people look so happy as did Christine and my Wyatt. I wondered if they were meant for each other as I had so often thought Wyatt and I had been meant for each other. Their romance had been nothing like ours. I didn't even know if I could call it a romance. But I was merely an angel, and who was I to judge?

I had such a small view of how things were to fit together. Everyone does.

I did not say goodbye to either of them, because I did not dare think of it as a goodbye. Never again would I think of something so permanent as a goodbye.

I also didn't think I could handle the tears Christine would certainly cry.

I was also sure I would come back. Someday. After all, I was a wanderer, like so many other angels, and I found myself restless staying in one place too long.

I had loved once. I still loved. So many have it wrong and do not realize love surpasses death.

It surpasses everything.

**_The End_**


End file.
